


Desert Passions; A Tribal Romance

by azhiraz



Category: Final Fantasy XIII-2
Genre: Dominance, F/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 03:42:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 49,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4375895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azhiraz/pseuds/azhiraz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Alternate Universe setting pairing Lightning & Noel Kriess; No one knows Noel Kreiss, really - he's just a desert boy...or is there something more behind a too big sword and a bigger attitude? Shall we find out? Please note rated Explicit/Mature for violence, strong scenes of heterosexual activity, adult language & situations, including implied non-consent via flashback. Full Disclaimers in chapter 1 heading, I take no credit for all things Square Enix except in story/plot development.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: Disclaimers first – This story is just for amusement, I do not own any characters, Square Enix does own all things Final Fantasy; there is no intent of financial gain or profit whatsoever._

_This story is a short alternate universe look about Lightning and Noel partnered together in a one-time classic heterosexual explicit erotica. No insult/upset intended for the fans of Noel/Serah romance, this is just a pairing that the requestor found highly interesting and the author found somewhat probable, as the question of 'Why did_ _Lightning_ _get the vision and sending of Noel to her vs._ _Serah_ _?' was thrown down like the proverbial glove. (Although we'd all cheer if Serah came back and a big wedding scene took place, replete with hovering moogles, kupo.)_

_Please be kind enough to remember this is fairly explicit in nature, and does have some aspects of dominance/control issues present._

**Chapter One**

Noel did as she asked, he protected her sister, but it was her, Lightning, that he was drawn to; he was born a hunter in tribe of nomads at the end of time, not a city man or an academian. Serah was pretty, so delicately lovely, so…protected; it made him want to protect her, but like a tiger carrying its cub around in its mouth, grooming and nudging her into kitten play to learn the hunt for food or to teach defense, but attraction? Never. Too pallid, too insipid in nature. She and other women in this time seemed oddly demure, childish and well…submissive. Besides, she was promised to a young rebel by the name of Snow, whom was her hero in all things, so there was no room for a young nomad, except as a friend and teacher.

He knew some men are caught up in and perhaps even devoted to the myth of the submissive woman. There were submissive women and men too, in the tribes, but he, Noel, never seemed quite comfortable with having to look out for every aspect of every need for someone, or taking the lead in all things all the time. Yuel had been a good balance; he guarded, he hunted, but he never had to teacher how to think for herself, and she had plenty of personal strength as a seeress. He remembered a conversation with Caius when he voiced his curiosity about Cauis and Yuel's relationship and Caius' answer:  _Why would a man desire a submissive woman? It is because a man who loves the weak is weak himself. A man who is secure in his masculinity would not feel threatened by a strong woman. A man who is uncertain about his worth belittles others so that he may feel as if he were strong. Only a man who is anxious to prove himself would treat women as if they were lesser beings. A strong woman in your life will dominate, lead and survive without your help; therefore, sharing the burden of leadership will be a shared joy, not a lonely road…and the passionate devotion between you will most assuredly NOT be one sided…_

Lightning was a warrior with skills equal to his own; on his world, in his time, she was a far higher prize than any pretty girl. Unlike the others, he enjoyed her unconscious swagger, her abrupt demands, and felt perfectly comfortable with her commander's role. She never knew the beauty she possessed, which was not only equal to Serah's crystal tints, but cleaner, sleeker; he would mentally trace the soft bow of her lips, lushly sensual, when she forgot to hold them in the straight firm line of a commander. The silky roseate hair was like Serah's also, but she was careless of it, letting it knot and tangle freely in the wind, grow stiff with the blood and sweat of battle, or dull to apricot in the dusty landscapes of their hunts. Her body, oh Etro, that body drove him insane at first. He'd lost his heart and head the first day they met and was too direct; when he had the moment to express his feelings to her and declare his admiration in no uncertain terms, what had it gotten him? A soldier's refusal, prideful and full of prickly defenses.

He was somewhat puzzled by the outright rejection at first. He'd seen many puzzling behaviors in the people surrounding him now; however, he did not jump to any conclusions, knowing his lessons from nature: people can say anything they want, but behavior is everything.

Lightning was lithe and smoothly muscled, a killing machine wrapped up in a veil of sweet smooth ivory silk; he wanted to pit his strength against the hidden steel and challenge the warrior of the goddess; he thirsted to feel the fight in her, he wanted her to come at him with everything she had, meet her head on, no holds barred, and fight, scuffling, clawing, scratching, growling and screeching until one of them went down in the dust…and he wanted it to be her in the dust, with his knife against her pearly throat, hearing her gasp in defeat. He was determined to win.

He knew that was the only way to get through to her. She was mentally armored like a fortress, so strong, but with a fatal flaw that everyone else didn't see: She ignored her own feelings, she had locked them deep inside and thrown away the key. Why? How? He shrugged, now indifferent to the two verbs. He never asked himself that after that insightful glimpse into her so long ago; he had his answers, plainly written out by her actions and body language. It mattered not. All that mattered was freeing her soul, that inner landscape of the heart, even if it was just once. She was worth it. Who knew how deep her passion ran, or how tender her heart was underneath all that rock and steel; he grew heated at the thought of her gaze growing limpid and her soul flowering with sweet tenderness; he wanted so badly just to see her allow herself to feel something other than obedience and sacred duty.

He remembered her direct gaze, pure crystal blue ice, her beautiful face delicately flushing with repressed anger at the thought he'd even think about laying a hand on the servant of the goddess, a Valkyrie; she'd controlled her voice, low and sweetly ringing like the bells on Odin's bridle, but he could tell had she raised her shield with her reply:

_I wouldn't spread my legs for you, even if you were the last man alive, Noel Kreiss._

_I am the last man alive…._ was his direct, clever answer; he lazily held his eyes to hers a few seconds longer than necessary, his deep blue irids alight with an impudent admiration of her; then he turned away and did not look back. He didn't need to see her puzzled gaze follow him out the door, the pointed little cat chin quivering in curiosity; he knew exactly what she was thinking: _Why would any man ask me that? They all want my sister, no one asks for…me. No one wants Lightning the Valkyrie of Etro, Lightning the warrior. No one wants a killing machine for a lover. Who would want me?_  And somewhere inside, some part of her answers:  _He_ _does._

So, his hunt began. Like any good hunter, he pretended to ignore his prey as he observed its' habits: he took care to show no further sign of interest or desire, behaving like any warrior in training; he was up at dawn, tending to the mounts, practicing with his weapons, hunting for food and the hundred everyday tasks of working as a team. He simply would step out of the line of her sight and soon she forgot about him while engaged with her role as a leader going about her daily tasks while he watched her, mentally cataloging times, places, actions, the way she placed her knife in her left boot top, the twitch in her eyebrow before she lashed out with a lethal scissors kick, or the secret seconds of pleasure taken at water pouring into her hair after a grueling practice session.

He always ran hard and close to her when paired off to hunt for meat with her; he made every effort to blend with her movements seamlessly, taking his kills with such a savage efficiency she soon lost her unease with him, and began to trust him, even asked for him as partner in the hunt. She had obviously put aside his declaration as a rash inexperienced newcomer's gaffe and actually treated him as if he were another fellow warrior, skilled and clever enough to join her hunting without having to worry if he could handle himself or not . Of course he was the better hunter, she was a warrior first, but he kept his dominance at bay, letting her lead at all times. Her assumption of command never bothered him, he had no sense of manly pride as the current society knew it. He had been hard trained in survival first, so he had learned the lessons of being interdependent, cooperative and tolerant of others.

Finally, his opportunity to begin the chase appeared; the others were taking time to enjoy a festival, and she wanted no part of it; she planned a three day hunt at an oasis in the east, and he volunteered at the last moment, after pretending he had committed to a girl for company, but she had let the plans fall through. Everyone was relieved he had volunteered, as no one hunted alone, ever. The rule was always hunt in pairs or more, no matter what. So the rest of team ran laughing into the sunset towards the festival lights, leaving Lightning and Noel to pack.

It was a quiet evening, and he simply sat in the great room, sharpening his blades with precision, smiling at the keen edges on his great double sword and knife; for once, she directly addressed him, asking why he spent so much time on the task; he shrugged, then leaned over and drew her red shoulder drape off, throwing it up in the air; as it floated down, the silk billowing like a drift of blood, his sword flashed and ever so gently drew against the fabric like a caress. Stunned, she watched two pieces drop to the ground.

"I prefer a clean cut. Pulling a dull blade out costs me precious time. I nearly got my head taken off by a beast when my blade got stuck in a bone."

He arched an eyebrow and held out his hand; Lightning nodded trustingly, drew her own sword and handed it over to be sharpened. She silently nursed a single glass of intoxicant, poking at the fire while he carefully oiled and ground the steel against the whetstone; then he opened his hunt season on her.

Instead of handing the sword back, he approached her, her sword presented edge up over his arm, as if he were her honor page, a skosvienn to a Valkyrie of the goddess Etro and shamelessly knelt to her, carefully placing her sword back into its scabbard, his elegant hands caressing the blade like a woman as he slid it home. Nothing in his body language betrayed anything past total respect, but yet, it was clearly an intimate gesture. Lightning found herself somehow touched by his gesture; it was in a way gratifying, he had treated her sword like he was handling the weapon of Etro herself and she caught herself wondering what Etro would do, if presented with respectful admiration like this. She couldn't help herself, plus the liquor had loosened her reticence; she cautiously reached out, a hand shyly floating down on the glossy chestnut hair and hovering, light as a butterfly. It too, was a gesture of respect, but somehow an intimate gesture.  _Why did I do that?_  She wondered;  _I never touch men, especially after that time when…_ She hastily shut down the unpleasant memory, opening her eyes again at the man kneeling before her _._

He stood and left her leaning in, breathing in his scent, an indefinable clean drift of masculinity underlaid with a hint of a warm woody amber. He used a resin from a desert bush, as all nomads did, adding it to the simple ketches of soap distributed to the household; he also prepared his body with oil, rubbing in a few handfuls after every shower and getting a healer's rubdown every week until his skin gleamed like bronze. It was a common practice with desert nomads, as water could be scarce and cleanliness was the mark of a civilized man; he remembered how handsome his father had looked on festival days, his wrapped pants in Bedouin white gauze, the golden bronze of his body competing with the golden brocades trimming his formal clothes as he walked next to the chieftain, his nobility a sudden surprise to his silently adoring son.

He disappeared on silent cat's feet into the darkness after firing that first disarming salvo. She stood in the firelight motionless, as the recent actions impressed themselves to memory. She felt herself unbend a fraction to Noel, and told herself to get him to talk about himself on the ride out.

She fell into sleep easily, as it had been a long day filled with minor squabbles and a stack of bills that took far too long to balance to the general coffer. The images of the day swirled and mixed in odd combinations as she moved to a deeper stage of sleep; Noel's deep blue eyes looking up at her dug into her unconscious and somehow, her mind added its own reaction, her hand reaching down, but placing two fingers under his chin, raising him to his feet, feeling herself smile at him, just like Serah would do with one of her swains. She fell into darkness saying to herself:  _How odd, I never noticed how tall he was, Serah, what do you do with men?...I don't know...I don't know…_

Morning found them riding out at the crack of dawn, eager to get away from city life; she had forgotten her idle dreams last night; she was pleased to see Noel open up and talk about his nomadic tribal lifestyle and felt pleasantly friendly towards him.

They reached the oasis by midday and rested their mounts, cooling their fetlocks in the water of the wadi. After a short security check around the perimeter of the oasis, Noel immediately tracked several types of prey off the signs around the oasis and asked what she'd like to try for first. She wisely suggested the smaller beasts, as a large kill might attract unwelcome attention and the smell of the kill over a day would be too strong. Grinning he swung up and pointed northeast, then with a yip, broke into a gallop across the empty trek; she followed and within an hour, a straggling herd of small beasts wheeled as one under the hard blue of the desert sky; Noel and Lightning circled twice until a limping female fell behind; Lightning jumped from her saddle, sword in hand, ready to deal the killing stroke as Noel rode the struggling female down, herding her into a panicking run straight at her; she leaped up out of the way of the delicate spiraled horns and delivered a clean slice to the throat; the creature somersaulted to a stop, flopping in the dust as its blood pumped out staining the pallid tan of the desert sand a deep rusty red. She ran forward and sliced once more to ensure the creature died quickly. Noel came thundering up and they knelt in silence for a moment to honor Etro for the gift of life and the beast's bravery.

She went to work immediately, gutting the beast and soon was up to her elbows in raw meat, blood splashed on her face as she hacked through a joint big enough for a table of eight. Noel was almost dainty in comparison; his hunting knife flicked out, swiftly peeling hide back to expose the heavy extensor muscles of the lower back by the spinal column, cut two tendons and used the edge of his blade to loosen a tenderloin , wrapping it in a piece of the hide he had scraped free of fat. Only his hands became bloodstained and he scrubbed them off in the sand before clucking at his mount to kneel and remount with the package. Lightning scrubbed her hands free of blood also , cut a bunch of leaves off a bush and rode back with Noel, at ease and exhilarated at the hunt. He was less than exhilarated, it was a bit wasteful to leave so much behind, but he knew it'd attract a bigger predator tomorrow, which was what she really wanted to hunt. She built the fire up and set her joint to roast with the herb leaves she gathered and asked Noel if he could keep an eye on things while she cleaned the blood off herself. He would have loved to have joined her, but he decided to bide his time. She kindly brought him water to drink and wash his hands in later as she relaxed in her own version of desert clothes, minus armor. He had removed his armguard, and carefully paid attention to his cut of tenderloin, grilling it carefully at the edge of the coals. Soon he was slicing off bits of meat as it cooked on the hot stone with the tip of his hunting knife, his favorite method of eating, washing it down with his own steeped blend of tea leaves, which he carried with him everywhere in his saddle bag. Desert hospitality was a huge thing to him, so he always had tea and two cups. He was curiously mannerly compared to many men Lightning knew, which was something she grew slightly ashamed over; she had thought him more barbaric because he was from a nomad tribe. Now here, in the desert, he was mature, well spoken, and quite intelligent with an easy manner of a young man. He seemed almost feminine in handling his knife, twirling it in his long fingers, carefully drawing the blade through sizzling meat like it was cake, never dropping a piece as it travelled from the edge of the fire to his mouth as he almost daintily nipped bites off with a flash of white teeth between the full smooth lips.

She idly let her thoughts roam while watching his face while just as daintily slicing bits from her spit-roasted leg. Noel had grown on her and she was starting to feel curious about the young self-possessed hunter. In a rare move, she pulled a flask out from her saddlebag and held it out to him; he did not drink from the flask, as all others did, but poured a small draught of the liquor into his tea cup and slowly sipped it as she asked him about his nomad tribal customs; she caught herself fascinated by his speech, slightly accented and with a curious, almost formal turn of words at times; she wondered if he'd ever had a chance to play as a child, or have a girlfriend or boyfriend; he was certainly so handsome he was almost pretty; a straight brow, a delicate clean profile, a slim yet muscular body with an almost sweetly innocent face; his mouth was clean cut, the lips always seemed cool, always moist with fresh breath, well-shaped with scintillating curves that somehow seemed to say  _come taste me_. She flushed at the sight of his tongue slipping out to lick a drop of the honey based liquor off the corner of the upper lip and frowned at herself for letting her mind wander down useless paths.

She took a rather large gulp and as soon as a break in the conversation came up, she stated that she was hitting the saddleroll and told him to help himself to the flask if he wished more.

He kicked out his own saddle roll laid back against it and smiled up at the stars, then slid into sleep himself. Tomorrow would be a long day and he needed all his strength for the task ahead.

Dawn broke sweet and clear, leaving Lightning well rested; she rolled and listened to the kynara greet the day, then turned on her side to look at the pretty wadi. Dragonflies flitted in the early light and her heart stopped: the wadi was occupied; a deep bronzed back sparkled with water drops as Noel's head shook out his wet hair. She hastily pressed her eyelids closed until she heard the splashing cease. A crystal blue aqua eye cautiously peeped open and relieved, she saw him partially dressed in his Bedouin wrapped pants, oiling his arms before donning the tight black shirt. Curious, she propped herself on one elbow and wondered what it felt like to be oiled; Serah had tried to get her to use her scented creams and lotions, but she usually smiled indulgently and promptly forgot about the jars and bottles.

The hunt was on early; they knew larger prey was in the area, the circling buzzards and hawks over the carcass they had left kept wheeling and scattering with regularity as they rode closer.

A honking squawk greeted them as they cautiously approached and birds scattered again as a smaller creature ran back into the north, smarting from a set of gashes in his side. The bigger one had asserted itself and was contentedly tearing and licking at the remains of the small kill yesterday; it snorted and snuffled warily as chewed, looking for anything that would encroach on its happenstance meal. Noel went into the undergrowth to the right and distracted the creature while Lightning positioned herself to attack. He whistled to keep the creatures' focus on him, but it took it as a signal for a trap, and had turned halfway by the time Lightning got to it; her stroke fell into a shoulder vs. the neck and the thick skin made the blade slow to pull out, so it was no surprise to see her yanked from her saddle. Now things had turned in favor of the creature.

Noel saw her hanging on her blade as the creature thrashed and bucked, bellowing in anger at being unable to reach the pain giver with its teeth or claws; he kicked his mount into a dead run and yipped at it in a command when he was close enough to strike; the mount veered hard left and he used the momentum to launch himself off the saddle; the double blade sang out and muffled when it hit the foreleg; he flipped on the way down and as he landed the tendon was cut; it stumbled feeling the first twinge of fear in its existence and roared in defiance. It shook Lightning off like a flea; she landed well, the blade also pushed out of the thick muscle with the creature's wild spasms. She was in a position for a perfect killing stroke to the neck artery and swung her blade back and up; it was torn out of her hands and out of nowhere, Noel's leg kicked her hard and she fell tumbling to the sand. A second later she felt the ground shake as the creature toppled over and smaller thud behind her. Totally enraged at having lost the kill she scrambled to her feet and screamed at Noel; kicking aside a massive claw buried mere feet from her she strode forward angrily to him, sliding off his lathered mount; they were both shaking and shuddering, the sword,  _her_  sword, clenched in his right hand, almost white against the leather cords. He reached up to clumsily pat it, murmuring loving praises of its bravery , then resting his head on its wither, he rolled his head to her, his face flooding with light as he was tenderly relieved she was alive; the eye blues widened in shock when a gloved hand backhanded him and delivering ringing slap on the return stroke. Lightning hissed: "What the hell do you think you were doing back there, Noel! Dammit, did you want the kill that badly you had to put my life in danger? You stupid son of a bitching backwater goatherder, did you see how close that claw came when it came down? I ought to beat the sense into your hide and hang you off that stinking carcass and let the buzzards pick at you, you little shit!"

She raised her fist to punch his lights out, slamming it home with all her strength, but was stopped like she had hit a brick wall; Noel's brows were snapped together as he growled back at her, pushed to his own limits: "Enough! You've already taken both cheeks before I had a chance to turn one!"

Resistance to discipline was one thing that Lightning never tolerated, so she simply went into an all out attack and before they both knew it, the mother of all fights began. They were well matched and Noel had studied well; Lightning found herself blocked more than a few times and put on the defensive more than she had expected. As the minutes passed, their inhibitions fell away until the fight evolved into a mess of thrashing arms and legs, interspersed with curses and yelps as they sought dominance over the other. Desperate, Noel tried an old nomad's trick and whistled for his mount; he jerked her shirt over her head and he scrambled, caught a stirrup and swung himself up; sharply wheeling his mount, he rode full speed to her as she contended with being blinded; he leaned off the saddle, looping a knee around the saddlehorn and pulled her up, throwing her across his saddle like a lamb. Her breath left her in a jolt and she laid there stunned, her body bouncing off the muscled withers as it turned back to the oasis.

She suddenly grinned as he made no move to hold her and feeling an upset victory near, she simply let herself slip off the saddle to fall to the ground, thinking she'd be free. However, this where the nomad sense of trickery had the upper hand; like any other nomad, Noel knew any prisoner would try to fall off the saddle, and being a well experienced rider like all nomads, he simply kicked his feet loose of stirrups and fell with her, landing on top of her and rolling like a crocodile in water to disorient his prey as to what was side up or down. He landed squarely on top of her and managed to pull her arms out and up, pinning them to the ground as he reared up, joints cracking with the effort. He came back down against her torso with an explosive whoof as she narrowly missed kneeing his groin; growling, he savagely kicked her legs out one at time and held them down with a foot on each ankle.

She lashed out with her tongue in a final defense: "Dammit Noel, I had the kill! Let me up! I'll give it to you if you want it that bad!"

"The hell you did! You forgot about the tail! Look!"

She rolled her head over and the severed tail section with stinger laid by the massive head, just as he said. Pissed he was right, she hotly protested: "I had it!" then seeing the unyielding glint in his eyes she simply gave in: "Ok. I give, The kill is yours. Now let me up. You win."

He did not comply.

They laid there in the dust, his body holding her down with all his strength as she panted in exhaustion; he kept his weight on her and only moved to prevent her escape until she ceased to struggle; he knew she still had fight left in her and captured her gaze with his own steady blue eyes to calm her. He did not become aggressive, but neither did he back down. He simply waited her out, his young virile body flexing and cording with each slight move, keeping her pinned down in the warm sand. All he had to was let his strength hold out until she realized there was no escape from him. He knew he had truly won, when her eyes melted into the limpid oasis of crystal aqua blue he had dreamed of.

The face she had kept hidden finally appeared; the firm line of her mouth softened, bowing onto its naturally lush lines, and no haughty commander looked out from her eyes as she breathed: "What more do you want? You have won."

"I want the greatest prize: You. Warm. Willing. No trick, no blade in my back in the dark. If you cannot yield with love, then simply submit…" He leaned to her ear, the softly accented voice lowered as he continued: "….but wait and see; for whatever I do… If it pleases you, it pleases me."

Outraged, she struggled mightily, testing the limits of his body strength more than once while cursing him, using every choice derogatory word she had known, then frustrated, silently glared at him; she sank her teeth in his arm as he picked her up after had her wrists and ankles bound in a hunter's slipknot; he hissed but did not punish her, though he'd been tempted to swat her after the nasty kick to his chest when the boots came off. He whistled and clicked in a distinctive pattern at his mount; it knelt and he climbed in the saddle, with her held against him until they reached the oasis.

He spoke again after they'd dismounted: "So. What's your answer? I won. Do you yield? Or submit?"

"Neither, Noel."

"Just like you to want the impossible. There is no third alternative and Etro knows it. Think of how you're going to look draped over my saddle tomorrow when we return to the city. And I'm riding straight to temple to claim breach of word." He smugly shot back at her. "I'll respect a change of heart, let me know later." He laid back in the shade and luxuriously stretched for a nap. Lightning laid on the sand and flipped, rolled and struggled against her bound wrists and ankles trying everything she knew to break free. She laid there after a while, disgusted, sandy, mouth dry and hot from lying in the scorching sun. Simply put, she was out of luck. The idea of her word being questioned by the temple didn't appeal at all, it meant everyone would know she'd be bested by a nomad boy and worse, probably meant having to give him what he wanted…with a temple witness.

Sighing, she rolled on her back and said: "Noel?"

A blue eye opened and looked over: "Hmm?"

"Submit."

Noel rolled onto an elbow and looked at her, then commented: "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? I loved the fight in your eyes when I first saw you and I love it now. But you've been so busy saving the world, you forgot to save yourself. Who saves the hero?…Lightning… _Claire_?"

_How'd you know my name?_ She thought, shocked into silence at his words. She was too bemused to resist as he pulled her to her feet and picked her up to walk to the wadi and start the hunt for her pleasure in earnest.

He reached the edge of the wadi, laying her on the damp sand to undress her; she struggled somewhat, blushing as she was divested of armor and fabric, until she was entirely in the nude. He stood up and eyes wide, she watched him pull off the tight black shirt with its nomadic designs , exposing the well-built torso, rippling with far more muscle than she had imagined. Shoes were kicked off, armor, weapons, and the tribal wrapped pants dropped to the sand, exposing a lithe body, well browned to the sun; not being in a crowded society, he had to hunt without clothes many times, thorns came out easier from skin than fabric; so he was a sumptuous sight; the wrapped leather cord on his right forearm remained in place, which somehow looked sexy as hell on him. She swallowed nervously as she glimpsed his sleeping sex nestled between his legs, the skin neatly shaven clean; it surprised her that he wasn't erect and throwing himself on top of her to rape her, which is what she thought he meant when she had heard the word submit. But oh no, she was wrong. It was worse. He clearly was out to take his time, anticipating a leisurely approach to collecting his prize. Puzzled, she simply observed as he started by throwing a wooden ketch of soap in the wadi and laying out a comb, towel and oil by his saddleroll.

He kicked his saddle roll open and a surprising bed bloomed open: a soft pallet of fur, a patchwork of russets, tans, brindles and blacks expanded and waved in the soft desert air.

He picked her up again and waded into the warm water, slowly placing her bound wrists behind his neck, pausing to pour the water over them to cleanse them of the dust and sweat of the battle; he gently lathered a handful of the soap and began to wash her hair with it; the fingers on her scalp undid her and she laid still letting herself drift in the water and let the warm brown hands tend to her as she tried to not squirm or resist. She tried to block out the sensations of being handled intimately by a stranger's hands so she relived the last memory of her father, carefully bathing her just like this, loving, kind, strong. It was sinfully wrong to allow someone else tend to her body at an adult age, but it at the same time it was an intense seduction that cut through years of isolation from human touch; it felt so good to let the hands unknot her shoulders, heal the scrapes and scratches from the hunt, caress her back with fluffy soap suds, and pour water over her like an offering. Noel caught her smiling as the warm water cascaded over her scalp and felt Etro was smiling on him, approving of him. He knew he was right now. She had been shut away too long with the memory of unkind hands.

He sat her on a sunlit boulder to dry a bit as he washed himself, ducking his head under to rinse the glossy chestnut hair of soap suds. She felt unsure, more than a little afraid and curious of what was really going to happen next. She didn't understand why he was being so gentle and why he was prolonging the intimacy. What little experience she had had was quick, violent and harshly degrading. The only gentleness she had was with her dead parents and Serah. She was like a virgin, with no experience to guide her; she'd not had a serious suitor or a lover in her army days and even before, as boys were invariably attracted to her little sister, a real beauty.

But then, so was he a virgin. He'd never consummated a sexual act with anyone before; if you were old enough for that, you were old enough to train and help the tribe survive. Survival was paramount, sexual pleasure was seldom regarded as anything more than luxury; yes, he had kissed, been exposed to glimpses of the clumsily tender yet touching scenes of the sexual act between men and women or same sex couples; however, being in nature every day, there was a world of sexual behavior to teach him. He had spent years studying the behavior of animals, so he knew exactly what to do; all he needed was the desire for someone, which he now had in plenty for her.

She found herself looping her wrists behind his neck, allowing herself to be carried out of the wadi, but carefully kept her eyes focused over his shoulder as he carried her back to the lush saddleroll; she almost gasped at the unfamiliar sensation of soft fur sending thousands of fingers of pleasure to her skin; when she finally got somewhat used to the feel of the bedroll, she looked over and turned deep red in embarrassment and looked away hastily; Noel had been oiling his skin, chestnut hair flopping over one eye as the skin shimmered invitingly , begging to be touched. She flinched as hands touched her damp hair, then poured oil over, and patiently worked tangles free with the comb; the hands didn't stop there, and slowly began to oil her ivory skin, now turning a pale gold from the exposure to the sun this long day. He slowly explored her body, laying her out on the bedroll by inches , creating delicate earthquakes of pleasure that threatened her self-imposed walls; no one had ever sought to touch her so; her flinches and taut stance slowly relaxed as she started to see clearly he wanted intimacy, but not as crudely or roughly as she had known.

But a new set of troubles invaded her; there were places she was far more tender than a man, and a thousand memories of army recruits all describing their exploits rose to mind; one voice in particular rasping with excitement at all the painful things he was going to do to her slid in and she began to sweat at the memory of the promise of pain. The thought of sexual intimacy began to frighten her deeply and she shook, looking away from him as he paused, concerned. Then he went on and never stopped after that point; he knew what was happening – it was like taming a gazelle or a horse to the hand; fear of the predator was built into the reflex system, and somewhere, somehow, she had learned to equate a man's hand to a predator's hand; yes, he was a hunter, and he was hunting her, but it was her pleasure he was chasing, not pain.

He took her hands, led them on a trip around his body, rubbing his cheek against her palms and exaggerated his pleasure at the soft feel of her skin on his, then encouraged them to roam freely, until she understood he also enjoyed a gentle touch. After a while, he playfully shook her hands from his hair, and started to run appreciative fingers over her oiled skin, carefully letting her know he enjoyed what he felt…very much. The touches slowly became gently insistent, brushing sensitive areas of soft skin on her inner arm; behind a knee; the spot just below her sacral dimples. He gently drew her down to lay back on the fur, drawing fingertips across her torso downwards to her flat belly and below; she began to softly sob out loud of all things, squeezing her eyes tight against the sight of that steady blue gaze filled with desire. A rape she understood. This slow intrusion into her personal space was undoing her a bit at a time.

She heard his voice quietly tell her: "Yes. Cry. Let it out, beautiful one. No one will hear you. Painful to live in such fear, isn't it? Go ahead. Let it out. Let go. Cry. Yell. Scream. - All you want. There is no one to hear you."  _I want to hear you scream…but with pleasure, not pain_. Tears burst from her eyelids as he dropped the first soft kiss on her shoulder, leaving it burning as she drowned in shame and fear of the unknown.

Her body began to behave quite contrary to her will, goose bumps rippling across the soft ivory expanse as a caressing hand swept her hair off the back of her neck; then her world tilted out of control as he savagely bit deep and began to suck like a wolf he had once seen with a reluctant mate; it had kept its fangs delicately poised to break the skin, but never did during the entire mating play. She gasped and a soft wordless cry escaped her as he marked her as his own, fiercely sucking the sweet skin for long moments until she shuddered; her body had responded with a wave of hot excitement that she tried to quell with ice cool thoughts, but that point of wet skin sent an electric current of desire straight to her core, where a dark flower of sexual tension began to bloom. Her mouth was dry and she swallowed, trying shake off the strong white teeth and warm wet mouth blowing her mind with hot desire for…more. He finally stopped, hands now stroking sweet breasts hanging like ripe fruit, palming a hip, tenderly brushing thighs as he slid a palm in between, then two fingers slowly following, thoroughly pressing and pulling between the softest skin, now wet from the slow pour of sweet honey her excited body gave away, eager to share its secret gifts to the warm pleasure giving hands. Noel curiously extended a deep pink tongue and flicked the tiniest taste off a dripping finger. The pheromones hit him hard, and very satisfied with the way his efforts had succeeded, he went back for more. The two fingers softly began to move in smooth circles, moving around slightly until she bucked against his hand and tried to jerk away. He persistently, deliberately sought that sensitive spot again and again, as she begged him to stop, it was too much. He only said no, and kept going, softly calling her pet names, his beauty, his sweet honey, then ever so gently, slid the two fingers in and began to work them in small circles. The feeling of being filled was somehow exquisite and when joined by a second hand gently working her, she simply lost the fight to control her body and buried her head in the hollow of his shoulder to keen through her tears as the body delighted in a deep apex of pleasure.

He felt his own body responding, but held it down with an iron will; tonight was about her, getting through to her very heart and soul, not just a moment of play. He knew he'd no longer be a virgin after tonight, but he had all night to take his own prize. He rewarded her with pulling her even closer, purring his pleasure with scorching passionate words of praise at her beautiful release as she panted against him, gulping her tears down. He raised her chin and tenderly kissed her; she no longer resisted his lips, and he sweetly kissed her everywhere, even teasing her breasts into pink crests, taking inspiration from a stolen look through a nomad's tent on a moonlit night, until he felt his sex springing against his leg, hard and ready. He split his legs out and kneeled over her legs still tied at the ankles, looking down on her with admiration before carefully introducing himself into her; she thrashed a bit at first, but as he made it past the first couple of inches, she stopped, her face clearly incredulous at her body accepting his; he wasn't hung like a desert stallion, but he sure as hell wasn't a boy, either.

He knew at that moment he was all man now, and had the power to please, to love a woman, and this woman, especially. He paused so she could accept he was buried in her before moving; a flash of memory of watching that desert stallion lose a prize mare, going down on her knees and shaking the mating attempt off during his mindless nonstop onslaught warned him, so he let himself throb against the sweet hot trap of silky wetness until he felt her relax against the hard burning flesh. He kept the pace easy, gentle, always looking at her to signal acceptance before changing rhythm or pace. She forgot her bound ankles, her fear lessened and she slowly grew to enjoy the primal pleasure of the deep warmth and soon was thrusting her hips in time with his, her face softening, unconsciously begging  _more_ ; eyes reached out to touch him now, slowly tracing veins in the corded biceps and forearms, along a rippling lean flank , up to his face, wickedly innocent, now filling with the confidence of a man; why hadn't she noticed how handsome his face was before? How tender the expression in his eyes was? Or how perfectly built his body was, wide flat shoulders tapering to an absurdly slim waist, core muscles clearly sculpted , long limbs, not heavily built, but slim, built for speed as well as strength. Was this really a boy a full three years younger than herself? What the hell was happening here in this deserted landscape, it was too much to bear, this heat, this incredible soaring feeling coming from the body of a young hunter not even old enough to grow a beard; he dropped closer on his elbows, his leather wrapped hand pressing against her cheek as he intently took in her excitement; she was vaguely aware of his own excitement, feeling a deep throb pulsing in her and the limpid tenderness in the ocean of his eyes. The singing pressure in her mounted, then started to crack as lips laid on hers; a tongue deliberately traced her upper lip and teeth gently nipped at her full lower lip to open up; it was no sloppy boy's kiss and he led the way he wanted it to go with another purr in the back of his throat, imitating nature, spurred on by time he'd seen a pair of jaguars mate, the male constantly purring as they swatted and played in the undergrowth. He'd been so aroused, he'd spontaneously climaxed watching. The easy rock of his hips now segued into a heavy roll and grind into her as a blind white heat crept up from his groin to his brain; searing pain jolted him from peaking as she tore her mouth away from his and buried her teeth into his shoulder, attempting to muffle her cries as she rose to a lightning flash of climax.

_Knew you could scream_  he smiled to himself _; now, my little honey bee, let's give you some more nectar until you are drunk and that desert of your heart blooms._

He pulled back upright and slowly pulled out of her as she laid there, breathing deeply, trying to slow the rapid beating of her heart. It was after dark, and he knew a fire needed to be started. He lit the kindling in the circle and flopped back on the fur pallet by her, propped up on one elbow as he drank off a cup of water, then held the cup to her mouth to also drink. Her strawberry ice hair was mussed, her face tear streaked, but he didn't care; she was glorious and she was his, tonight...until dawn.

He tenderly kissed her eyelids, wiped her face clear of tears and lay back, watching the stars slowly move across the night sky. He idly stroked her hair as her ragged breath evened out and the trembling stopped; he knew he had not hurt her, but asked if she was hurt anyway and she shook her head; a few minutes later she shyly asked if his shoulder hurt and brought her bound hands up to touch it, as if to soothe its hurt. He briefly smiled and told her not so much now, but he had a deeper ache elsewhere. She looked at him puzzled, and it dawned on her what he'd meant. She faintly said: "You mean, I…this didn't please you?" and looked away to hide a prickle of tears. He rolled on her and took her face in his hands before telling her: "By Etro, you please. You are like nothing I've ever seen, it is …heavenly. It is…I…who am your servant. No one has worshipped at your altar, little goddess, so tonight my needs are put aside for yours….remember? If it pleases you, it pleases me. "

Aroused again, he kissed her deeply, not holding back anything and gave her pleasure twice more that night, first throwing her legs over a shoulder as he pressed into her deeply. She had tried to hide her face behind her hands, thinking her aroused expression would disgust him, but he tore them away and held them over her head, begging her to keep looking at him and together they somehow ended up falling into the stars of each other's eyes; she finally had the courage to gasp the word  _more_ and he spun her onto her knees the second time, pulling her hips to his and he rode her at a fierce gallop then slowed to a insanely provocative grind as she finally was thrown off into the stars; he reached his own version of physical nirvana with a sweet ache of tenderness as she fell back to him and together they collapsed on the fur pallet fiercely nestling into each other as they drifted to sleep, softly laughing. As he hazed into a soft blackness he sleepily whispered love you, little goddess and felt a shy wild kiss given in return.

In the dawn rosy rays illuminating her tangled hair with tourmaline highlights, she awoke in the shade of the trees by the wadi. Her mount was idly munching grass, the campfire was smoking ash and a lone kynara whistled its sweet morning hymn of Ka-reeet! Ka-reet! in the desert dawn. Puzzled she looked around for her masterful opponent, but there was no Noel; no mount, no double sword stuck in the sand there, by the saddle roll; even the luxurious fur pallet was gone, replaced by her own thick pad. A bundle hung from the tree, her kill neatly blooded and wrapped in hide. It was if Noel Kreiss had never been.

Etro, what did I dream? Was I mad? Was it a vision?

She looked down, her limbs were free, she was nude, but her clothes and armor were neatly piled by her side, her sword in her usual place above the head of her saddle roll. She lifted an arm, no bruises, no scratch from his nails on the forearm that had dug in during a throw yesterday; she sniffed, no scent of the myrrh in the soap drifted up, just …her…and desert dust.

As she rode at a gallop on the long dusty sandy trek back to the city, and it was nearly sunset when she realized that Noel Kriess had been clever as Odysseus, she hadn't opened her legs at all to the last man alive…yet...something happened. She began to softly smile, then as a sense of joy at being loved for herself invaded her interior desert, bubbling with a clear rush like flowing water, she laughed again, a clear ring of crystal bells resounding straight to Valhalla and Etro's ears.

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note and disclaimers: Please credit the one & only Def Leppard for the mention of the song & lyric excerpt from "Tonight" off the Adrenalize album (Steve Clark, miss ya!); also mention of Iron Maiden's tune 'Fear of the Dark" is mentioned. A lovely set of rock ballads arranged for the traditional harp did offer some motivation to write this additional chapter. Hope you don't mind the inclusion.
> 
> Square Enix owns all things Final Fantasy & there is no intent of profit or gain, unless one counts notoriety as a gain.
> 
> As always, please keep in mind this is rated mature content for good reason: There can and will be fairly explicit heterosexual contact between adults, adult situations and violence, adult language and in between, the occasional romance story between two near immortals will creep out and lick someone's ankle for attention...

The evening lights twinkled a warm welcome to Lightning returning from her hunt; even warmer was the welcome from the garrison and her friends; they were appreciatively tearing into the kill that had been grilling over the kitchen fires that afternoon; who'd have thought of the simple clever idea of sending her hunt partner back a half day early with fresh meat? She stopped, puzzled saying: "My kill? Actually, it was Noel Kreiss who has credit there!" She kept it honest, the admiration a surprise to her listeners; they all thought he was bit full of himself, his nomad's solitary ways mistaken for pride. She took her lesson in the desert to heart, telling them of her near miss, insisting everyone run practice programs with tailed creatures in the next month and discussed the merits of sharpening blades daily from now on. Of course, no one had known where Kreiss had gone to; they'd all assumed he was sleeping it off, as their Valkrie did tend to run anyone with her at a blistering pace.

When Noel made it back to the great room later that evening, he was treated with far more cordiality than the previous week, even invited to a table to throw dice and drink; he joined, but kept Lightning in his line of sight; she had looked up at him and started to smile warmly in welcome, determined to be gracious, but the smile faded into a confused stillness as he looked at her like she was a stranger, nodding tersely at first; and then later, the hunter looked daggers at her the next time she looked up from her conversation with commandant Johel, who was pouring her drink for her with that sideways play of his eyes he practiced on all women; said specimens were an intriguing amber in tint and had been the undoing of many men and women in the garrison and nearby township. She kindly turned him down as she always did, and carefully withdrew her hand from his as he gallantly held her hand to forehead in Etro's blessing and kissed her fingertips, before leaving for the town bars to pursue more serious prey; he was reputed to change his lovers like he changed his underwear and anyone with a little sense usually steered clear of him or pretended they had a lover already.

The commandant and Lightning were both startled at a shout that had gone up suddenly at the gaming table during their little one-sided flirtation; they turned as one and saw Noel's hunting knife quivering in the wood, driven there with savage stroke; his face was that of a hungry desert lynx and he hissed just like one for brief three seconds, then snapped the look off his face and nonchalantly shrugged: "Baste it, I always get snake eyes when I bet my pay!" Everyone laughed, and offered advice, or other clever existentialist comments about luck, the evening falling back into predictable pattern. But no one, not even Lightning, noticed the jealous glint of the indigo eyes that followed her from table to table in the shadows of the firelight, until the evening wound down to a close.

Lightning couldn't quite shake the feeling the strange bloom of passion that had happened the day before was a fantasy, or a wild dream. Maybe she'd picked the wrong bush & well, taken a trip without leaving the campfire, so to speak. She remembered a recruit who'd gone mad tripping his fool brains out after eating a cactus for water, wandering lost for two days, only to be found sleeping in a wadi, clothed only in bits of vine and wilted cactus blooms clutching a bunch of dates, the sticky sweet fruit smeared on his face wreathed in a blissful smile. She expelled her breath in a soft whew, telling herself the fantasy was far too detailed for a drug induced dream, but then, again, what if it were just a lonely fantasy blown out of proportion by a drink and nature's high?

She kept trying to remember the scent of the resin and his skin while in the shower, and failing, she became desperate, looking for a sign, any sign that he'd really been with her, lifting and turning her soapy limbs. Disappointed, she gave up, rubbing her neck to wipe off the soap lather that had gathered there and…winced.

Her mind went into shock as she remembered being ravaged by a full sexy mouth exactly there, the memory of that wet stinging spot sending an electric current to her core to bloom again with a hot desire; almost trembling, she pulled her small arm shield from the pile of armor in the dressing room, stepped to the mirror and squeezed her eyes shut in a brief prayer to Etro before opening them to her reflection in the shield; then she steeled herself into a soldier's stare and swept the wet hair off her neck. Her neck was untouched, pure unbroken skin, no purpling bruise of passion or teeth marks.  _I've gone mad, I just know it… I am obsessed; I just dreamed a night of Noel Kreiss…_ she shut her eyes again, this time wearily, a prickle of tears rising at her own insanity. She shook her head, laying the shield back down, went to reach for a comb and froze as Noel Kreiss' image reflected back in the mirror stared back at her; he had the same intense look of impudent admiration, but mixed with a spark that was quickly fanned into hot jealousy that scorched her skin. He arched a brow and stated with dry humor: "I should have left you marked the first time as mine."

Silently he pounced, wrapping a hand across her mouth to ensure not a sound escaped her lips as she was pulled to his lean sinewy body; she threw her nastiest kick and throw hold break, but he had judged her better and had her caught right this time. He hung on, his long arms tightening into a steel band around her and she violently flexed, trying to shake him, but failed and ended up bent over the end of the high table piled with towels and sea sponges like a common wench about to be taken in lust. But passion ruled the moment, not lust.

Another savage sucking bite was delivered, this time deep enough to make her growl and grit her teeth, now angry at the uninvited intrusion. A soft romantic kiss stolen in the bath was one thing, but this? It was pure unadulterated animal behavior. His soft accented tenor unkindly informed her with the rawest, nastiest, downright dirty tone of possessive ownership: "There. If that man-whore hasn't the sense to stay away from you after seeing that, I'll carve his pretty amber eyes out and sell them to the nearest witch for spells. And if you even try one healing spell, It'll be a tattoo next time, and in a place you will NOT like."

And just like that, he was gone, leaving a panting, pissed off female of the species staring at a reflection of a very obvious lovebite on the back of her neck. Her screech of rage could be heard past the bath door, echoing down the hallway of the officer's private wing, causing heads to pop out of doors in confusion. Noel didn't pause once in his stride, but a corner of his mouth quirked up and almost smiled.

The next day was odd for Lightning; she forgot about the lovebite for about 5 minutes at a time or until the rasp of fabric against bruised skin would remind her of the rough handling; the flare of anger made her mood turn foul, and she laid into everyone at practice; any excuse to pick on Noel was taken, but he bore it well, never complaining and answered every whiplash of command with the utmost respect. Even when shaking with exhaustion and well worked over by the various drills, he was the first by her side carefully holding his hand up to allow her to step out of the practice ring without a misstep; he even did things unasked or ordered: he brought her water, dry towels to mop away the sweat and dirt. He did not let anyone touch her weapon, sharpening it until the edges gleamed, then knelt again like she was Etro to sheathe her gunsaber, but this time in front of everybody in the great hall. The few observers who even cared to note it were amused, thinking the hunter must have really pissed off their Lightning, or thought it no more than a simple nomad's gesture of respect.

She didn't know quite how to treat Noel, as he did intrude into the personal space she'd carved out for herself; but again, she had decided to let him in while in the desert, so she blamed herself for the current state of affairs, if a single night could even be called an affair. She concluded in a few days, his jealous infatuation would fade; possession wore on men quickly, it seemed. If it got violent, well, she had a gunsaber. Shoot first, ask questions later. Still, something intrigued her about Noel: Why such a conflicting attitude? Why behave like he was her servant, every last whim of hers was to be obeyed without question today? Why did he say whatever pleased her would please him? Why did he disappear in the night like shy boy after silently worshipping her like she was the only woman on the planet, like he was never there? The fierce possessive act with a lovebite and a warning was a puzzling contrast. Had it been any other man, she'd have written it off as psych and promptly ejected him from the garrison; but there was something so…so…savagely innocent, so vulnerably simple about him she could not help but want to delve deeper.

So she sat deep in thought by the great firepit in the center of the room, idly twirling a glass of a red wine, raising it to occasionally admire the deep ruby flashes in the liquid as she observed it against the licking golden flames; she was a perfect picture of a relaxed leader in her chair, and the firelight softened her naturally lovely features as the stresses of the day faded away listening to the fall of the dice, the idle chatter against the pop & crackle of the logs in the pit. One of the younger soldiers brought out his harp and began to pluck it; he did not break into any ballads or try to impress anyone with arpeggios, but simply plucked lightly, coloring the air with sound which pleased the occupants of the room; the hands soon fell into old patterns and resurrected a few old tunes, like Isle of Kisses, Within Temptation, Fear of the Dark and Tonight; she gazed raptly at the hands plucking at the harp and visibly relaxed into the music; the solider-artist softly hummed to accompany the music, occasionally softly singing a line or two as he remembered them in a pleasant husky tenor; the lyrics to tonight were a poignant echo of the strange occurrence she had experienced with the handsome man in desert garb not sitting 30 feet away from her, hand propping up his head on the scarred table;  _….for if it pleases you, it pleases me…._

His gaze flicked to her at hearing that line; it was as if he couldn't help himself; no impudent arrogant admiration, no lazily sarcastic attitude, just a look that somehow pled, that somehow seemed surprisingly intimate with its focused intensity on one object in the room: her. The eyelids fell almost bashfully over the now – tranquil lakes of cerulean when she returned the gaze steadily with no fear, remembering his accented tenor whispering those scorching words. She would have never marked him for sensitive, but those eyelids were just that, the silk fringe of dark lashes sweeping his cheek as if to hide from an ardent suitor.

But when he looked up again, oh, what was spoken without words! Caught by the story unfolding in those eyes she could do no more than sit transfixed as he relived some memory, the cool sapphire waters slowly melting into something more, darker, deeper than just attraction or lust. He kept his gaze on her, the iris of his eyes darkening; something in it was looking right into her, deep inside to the very soul of her and what was found was supremely….erotic. Lightning felt like she was falling into those smoky blue depths & finding a profound exhilaration in those open eyes to match her own excitement spiraling up in her soul; the maddening rhythm of her pulse was unbearably sexual; all other sensations in the room fell away, and she was alone with him, the sheer intensity verging on agonizing , soaring to night sky with the sparks from a falling log until her body gently released itself, drifting back down in a welter of sweat, trembling, & thudding heart. The rest of the world slowly hazed itself back in, plucked harp notes quivering in the air surrounding them, the soldier-artist changing beat as the music coaxed the crowd into hand clapping along to the beat, people changing movements, places; some of them quaffing beer, or lip locked in frenzied embraces in search of what might have just happened with Noel, here…?

_What in the name of Etro is happening to me tonight?_  Lightning set her unfinished red thunder in a bottle down and made her way somewhat unsteadily to the soldier with the harp to thank him for the music; he grinned and bobbed his head before breaking into a rowdy drinking song as she turned to go back to her room to relax and sleep. Weariness began to set in as she made her way through the tables to the stairs beyond the double doors; she bumped into a corner and sighed at the thought of another bruise rising on her leg tomorrow. A light touch on her elbow ghosted into a Noel Kreiss silently offering a hand to guide her; he latched onto her hand with the lightest of touches and another fell light as a feather around her waist as he guided her through the crowded tables through the double doors and up the stairs to the quiet darkness beyond. There were a few couples kissing in the hallway of the officer's wing, but he kept himself totally circumspect, just another soldier turned personal guard to his leader. She swayed a bit as she unlocked the door and quietly thanked him, albeit formally for his escort.

His only comment was: "You've pushed yourself too hard today with too little sustenance, Lightning." He reached into his waistpack at the back of his belt , rummaged and brought out a fresh leaf folded into a packet, dropping it into a palm he'd turned face up. "Eat before sleeping. It will restore you. Now, sleep."

She looked the leaf packet over, and decided it was no worse than a  _paan_ , a betel leaf wrapped round a betel nut that the desert dwellers all chewed as a mouth amusement or after dinner to freshen breath. She put into her mouth after curiously sniffing it; it had a fresh peppery smell and slightly chewy texture; the leaf was wrapped around a creamy white nut, which was subtly sweet and quite enjoyable. She crawled into bed to sleep off a long day.

Later, in the still of the night, a lean shadow walked into Lightning's room with the silent tread of an assassin and sat on the window ledge cross-legged, watching her unconscious movements with a deep possessiveness and feeling of utter satisfaction at the sight of a very private fascination enjoying his gift of a deep healing slumber.

She didn't even murmur as he tenderly brushed strands of icy pink silk off a creamy neck, well pleased to see she did not erase the way he had branded her as his own. Silently exultant, he knew he had caught her interest. He had the power to do anything, everything, if he wished it. Tonight, he chose nothing. Knowing was enough.

 


	3. Chapter Three

Lightning awoke in the dawn, pale rose fingers of sunrays reaching in through the gauzy curtains, illuminating the room with a soft glow that made her feel peaceful inside today. She got up and lazily stretched before the view, missing the imprint of disturbed dust on the window ledge as she worked the muscles to life for the day's tasks ahead of her. She inhaled deeply and took in a heady unknown scent that clung to her for the rest of the day; looking down on the window ledge, a single cactus flower had been set in a clay bowl of water; a bloom of such fragility and beauty that she had never seen the likes of before and she marveled at it, almost intoxicated at the scent, the smooth waxy petals shaped like a lotus with an upstanding ruff of stamens, all tinged with a pale icy rose tint that reminded her of Serah's hair.

Noel Kreiss. It had to be Noel – who else could find such rare exquisite things in the desert? She had the rest of the day to puzzle why he'd done such a thing; flowers didn't seem to be his style, nor was it Lightning's; she'd told herself time and time again, she'd rather have a roof over her head, a meal on the table and sharp gunsaber over a bouquet of flowers or a necklace, but Serah would laugh and tell her one day, she'd have a face to face with her femininity, and femininity would win, no crossing nature! Then she would be gently teased into doing whatever Serah wished, whether it was putting on one of her softly colored garments, letting Serah brush her hair until it shone like pink diamonds, or patiently trying Serah's dance steps. It wasn't that they were wrong, it just didn't quite feel like it fit her, like it fit her sister. Serah made being feminine seem so natural, so easy. She was so proud of her and whimsically wondered how she'd advise her confused older sister through this mess of an affair. Taking a page from Serah's examples of romantic relationships, she came to the conclusion the gift of the cactus flower was a proud, yet shy man's attempt at an apology or a peace offering for being a disagreeable infatuated fool, and couldn't get out the words  _I made a mistake, I crossed the line._  The inability to say 'I'm sorry' seemed to be also another quirk of a Pulsian man's nature.

He had behaved prettily again today, even relaxed enough to shyly grin as they bent over, resting hands on knees breathing hard & sweating after a good practice drill in blocking with shields; he'd caught the clinging scent of the flower despite the sweat and dirt, and something in his face relaxed; then somehow they were at ease with each other again. No hyperawareness, no anger or jealous eyes, just a couple of soldiers in a group of soldiers working on plans and defenses with a healthy respect for each other. He sat by her during the dinner hour in the great hall, pouring her clear water instead of wine, and politely picking up a fork and spoon instead of using his hunting knife to eat.

He was also quietly insistent she eat a few ounces more of meat, and leave off the bread and dessert, cutting up some of the ever-present figs for her instead. Amused, she asked him why she needed to eat differently than the men; he smiled charmingly for once and answered with his own question: "Didn't you just answer your own question?" before going on to explain their bodies burned food in different ways when training as hard as they did; he assured her she would keep her curves, gain muscle, and sleep better if she ate like he'd fed her this night.

"So….kind of like...who saves the hero…from cake?" Lightning gently joked, trying to be clever like Serah. Noel threw his head back in a silent laugh, subtly amused; then his gaze warmed as he silently proffered her another precisely quartered bit of fresh fig on the tip of his knife, flipping the blade up to her cool rose lips. She unbent enough to carefully eat it off the blade, which pleased him and he continued to feed her the rest of the fig, under the now-envious eye of one commandant Johel. The way Noel idly spun his knife in his fingers while leaning back in his chair with a sardonic eye was not altogether lost on said man-whore that evening, either. Lightning actually felt relieved she didn't have to do polite verbal fencing with Johel and began to get the idea that having Noel hovering protectively about her was useful after all.

So, without any doubts or hesitation, Lightning made her way to Noel's room later after her shower to say something graceful and conciliatory about the peace offering. She'd taken to wearing the hooded desert djellaba the town markets offered when off duty, as it was loose and cool, common enough to not attract notice as everyone, men and women alike, wore one at some time or another. Serah would have insisted on having her sister wear one sheer enough to glimpse the outline of her slim curves, and likely would have also loved to see beautiful embroidery in intricate designs and soft glowing colors adorning her lovely sister, but it was a plain natural colored silk gauze flowing around the slim well shaped limbs striding down the hall in the evening. A trail of cactus blossom scent indicated one concession to her sister's would-be whims, as Lightning had thought wearing the bloom would be appropriate, she remembered the local desert people liked it when you used their gifts. Leaving something unused was akin to an insult.

A bare-chested bare-footed Noel opened the door cautiously and stood silently, not giving away that he was stunned to see his secret obsession in desert garb, a cactus blossom tucked in behind an ear and with something that looked like a hint of a smile in her eyes. He eyed her for a full 3 seconds with a blue eyed panther cub's interested innocent look, before an arm shot out and yanked Lightning in with the speed of scorpion's sting; the door slammed shut with snick of the lock a bare millisecond behind; before she could draw breath to say a thing, she was pushed up back against a wall, a slim muscular frame now between her legs with a sinewed arm pulling her djellaba up with one tanned calloused hand while the other held her in a grasp of steel leaving her gasping for breath; a tug at his wrapped pants left them in a puddle on the floor; stepping out of them, he simply plunged into her with a pure cloudburst of desire pouring down from heaven , flesh meeting flesh that was hot, hard, dry & throbbing; after she'd sucked in sweet air when the forearm lifted off her throat, she drew breath to snarl at him, eyes watering from the hot burn as he'd buried himself all the way in, but again, she was cut off with the swordsman's warm hand across her mouth to keep her from screaming; this time she bit deep enough to draw blood and make him stifle a moan of pain that was still somehow excitement. He then shifted his gaze back to her with a smoldering look before slowly lifting his hand to his mouth, licking and sucking the wound; the actions of the deep rose tongue and full lips on his own flesh somehow sent a signal of sexuality so hot and deep that it made Lightning throb for a moment; he stopped upon feeling that flutter and slowly his gaze warmed into the deep depths of the cerulean lake she had fallen into the other night and she felt herself drowning in a strange tsunami of otherworldly communication, sinking into something like horizontal depths, or perhaps vertical horizons where soul met soul sparking with contact in ultramarine and aqua irises.

He slowly extended his hand back to her face, deliberately setting the wounded hand back in place, resting it on her lips in a silent offering and gave her the slowest nod before ever so delicately, tenderly, kissing her face, her neck, hair, anywhere his lips could reach before he started to move his hips in an age old rhythm. He hissed in pain when she bit down again, but kept going until he felt the invisible wire of resistant tension snap in his beautiful partner; she was now accepting him, opening her legs wider, shaking the hand off her mouth and leaning in, silently beseeching for a taste of his mouth on hers. He cautiously laid his mouth on hers, then slowly welcomed her eager kisses, now letting himself answer just as eagerly until his hips slowed to a stop and they just stood there entwined against the wall, kissing as passionately as three nights before, too lost in each other to think of anything but the next kiss, the next caress that silently said  _yes_.  _Yes, I want this, I adore I love I need…_

Noel was on fire for her and wanted her on a bed, his bed, and all night again after being sucker punched by Lightning's eager response and decided to move things along, picking her up and carrying her, his hands grasping what had been euphemistically titled the juiciest piece of tail in the garrison by a swooning cadet before he'd been told it was the platoon leader and gunsaber master of his unit. Noel had been a bit more explicit with his knife on the cadet, but it didn't stop him from privately agreeing with the title.

But again, his thought process was different, the intent was not an affair to stave off ennui or gain experience. No, she was the goal; something in her had so completely captured him after eons of loneliness. Yuel would be waiting, but until they could resurrect the dead, or if his near immortal body could die, he was in this world, not the farside, or Etro's realm. He knew he should say something to her, tell her the things his heart held ever since he'd been caught by this fierce angel in Valhalla, but his feelings would overcome him in a great rush and all he could think about was seeing those aqua eyes limpidly gazing back at him as they were now; he carefully knelt on the bed and shifted his arms to cradle her as he lowered her back to the cool sheets and thought of what else he could do to capture her further tonight. He knew he'd eventually get to the traditional challenge and bind her to him, but it was not the time for that yet. He had to make her want him as much as he wanted her.

She looked absolutely edible lying there half exposed across his lap, with the fabric of the djellaba pushed up to her waist exposing the creamy satin hips marked with golden tan lines where she'd been exposed to the desert sun this past week; he was a passionate admirer of beauty, and she had it in plenty; he was becoming rapidly annoyed that the fabric was hiding the rest of her from his view and debated just tearing it off of her, as he wanted to stay inside her and not lose the intensity of the moment. He'd wanted to tear the armor off, too, when he'd first been dropped into Valhalla, but blinded by adoration he'd succumbed to her request to find her sister and guard her on her quest. Why did she affect him so? He searched for words to express this feeling, how the blood sang when they fought, and even more so when they were like this, painfully vulnerable with naked souls eyeing each other warily despite being clothed in skin, bone, muscles… _mine…you must be mine and no others…_

Noel stretched himself over her and eased onto his left side, still cradling her, her rose silk spilling over a tanned arm; a bare foot gently nudged his calf and hooked behind to keep close to him, another brief flare of ecstasy at being kept close instead being pushed away. It was a sweet reward after the struggle of the past weeks to get her to even look at him.

His search for a net of words to make his rose haired darling captive to his heart was eased when she asked into his shoulder "Why? Why'd you do it?"

He drew breath and let it out, then smiled into her hair so she wouldn't see the young man's eyes filled with lonely nights and longing for someone that was his match, a being that left him feeling exhilarated instead of sighing with forced tenderness he didn't feel in the least. When he spoke it was with a soft huskiness, remembering the poetry his father would quote, and one line that always made his mother blush and her breath catch, unable to even look at her beloved's face:

"Bringing you gifts to court your attention would be like bringing water to the oasis, so I brought you a mirror." He improvised as best he could and hit her with the truth he'd learned:  
"A mirror that is…the reflection of my…eyes…my heart…my soul…I know you are lonely, so I gifted you with myself. I am lonely too…and touched by immortality like you. Forever is a long time when you've only a human heart, isn't it…Claire?"

He was rewarded with the same catch of breath in his ear; so Noel simply went for broke that evening and every evening that came after, holding his own desires in check again, giving her his all to please again and again, feeding her until he became an addiction. She began to lean on him, look for him almost every day and seek him out more and more until the day came where he decided the time was right to claim her; he had his wrapped bracelet, which could do until he found a tribe with the real thing, a chain maille woven so finely and strongly it was like a silk rope. He decided he'd have to take three days or so along the oasis routes to find a travelling caravan, and barter for a good one, no sense in not doing it properly. She was going to be hard to capture and eons to tame.

Lightning, on the other hand was already captured, but not quite in the way Noel was imagining at the moment; she was on the verge of falling in love with the beautiful hunter from the end of time. Like any other female, prodded by memories of Serah, she went to find him a gift in the markets on an off duty day and was drawn to a wily looking trader drinking tea on a blanket spread with glittering jewelry.

"Whatcha looking for?"

"A gift for a friend, a – lover."

He cackled and said: "Woman? Or Man? Most anything goes these days. But you might want to stay away from those-" pointing at the neatly coiled ropes and chains at the back end; "Them's for nomads only – you should see 'em tie one on – I saw one when I was travelling at the south east trade route this spring! The girl went after the boy like she was gonna murder him and he put up a mighty struggle; she was bloody all over before she landed him, then she tied him squalling like a gelded stallion, - them's some  _damn_  bad painful ties, and they have to wear it for life!"

"Oh? How do they wear the rope? I thought it was just tied around the waist, the ankle, or wrist?. "

"Eeeh, no girlie! Here, let me show ya some pics on me cell, and don't get upset, they're graphic, ya know?"

Lightning blanched when she saw the chains tied in painful tight patterns around hips, legs and genitalia, effectively making the man into a eunuch or worse, gelded as the seller said.  _No way am I going to do that to a man, especially Noel!_  "Um. I see. Well, what would you suggest?" She brought forward a photo of Noel off her cell and he squinted at it. "Ehh. A pureblood, girl! You're in exalted company. Has he had his ears bored yet? Ya know, pierced? They all get them themselves pierced and tattooed. It's an old tradition to pierce both ears on a pureblood, but it's usually done at birth, or when they come of age. There's a whole set of pictures on pierces by nomads in that book on the left side, if you want to look, but I warn you, it's more of the same as those wicked tie-offs. "

A pair of earrings sounded much more in line with her idea of a gift, so she agreed to the sale; "500 gil" he tonelessly said and she almost gasped – 10 times more than the going price for gold? She kept her cool, and asked: "Isn't that a bit high for just gold?"

"It's iridium, girl. They all prize that over gold. And your boy here is wearing it in the pic."

She blinked and wondered what ever possessed Noel to wear something so extravagant as an iridium necklace? Belatedly she remembered he had a belt with the same discs, too. "How many grams do you think he's wearing on his neck?" "At least 3 ounces pure – that big disc is enough to buy this town as his own and set up for himself with a few thousand gil to spare – those nomads wear their wealth and by the looks of it, he's a sheik; its pretty damn old, too – they don't make that type of disc with a hole anymore. It's all solid flat discs with engraving or those teardrop shapes like that headdress over there, see? So your boy's the real deal genuine old school pureblood all the way. Oh by the way, I put in a needle for the piercing. Remember to do it like it's a secret; You just had things appear on you or in your room, right? It's the same etiquette for giving a gift. It just appears. He'll throw it back in your face if you put a bow and nice card on it."

So she spent a week's pay on two very small hoops of pure iridium and puzzled how she'd surprise him with them. Then with a somewhat wicked smile she realized it was going to be fun. She insisted on drinking in the great room one night and made sure every man of the unit made a toast to something, so Noel had to drink, too. As his kind seldom distilled or drank alcohol, he soon became totally wasted; thankfully he made a happy drunk, but kept a nasty glint in his eye whenever Johel was in sight. She had a cadet help her walk, or more like stumble Noel up to his room, and together they got his shoes off and sword hung over the hook by the bed, then they quietly left. Light came back after her shower to find a passed out Noel & with a grin, went to work, first numbing the ears with ice, then a quick pierce with the sterilized needle in each earlobe. She observed her finished work and decided he looked adorably sexy.  _Etro, what the hell am I doing with this little scorpion?_  She let herself kiss the sweet poison of his lips lingeringly before she quietly let herself out and walked back to her own quarters with a sexy swing in her walk she'd developed recently.

With great satisfaction she heard the short and explicit cursing screech of a young stallion and the shatter of something fragile in the bath house the next morning and silently laughed, suddenly snapping the amused look off her face when a haughty, sullen Noel came out into the practice yard. The other soldiers teased unmercifully: "Ooo…a new pair of earrings to go with the skirt, pretty boy? "…"what's up with THAT wussy display? Couldn't take those pretty pink nipples being ringed up?" – this was said with a shirt flipped and a flick of a finger on a bronzed specimen adorned with its own solid gold pierce dangling a skull of Etro; "No-elle?" said in a sweet falsetto; "Hey desert delight! Do you think this dress goes with my eyes?" Johel was prankishly wrapped in his cape, with a tight twist up his backside like one of the town's wafters, imitating Noel's wide-legged fighting stance. Losing his stoic face, the ultrafast scorpion's sting of an arm lashed out and pinioned the hapless commandant's skull in a headlock, with the ever-present knife hovering dangerously close to an amber eye now petrified in fright; the knife started to ever so gently stroke the cheek in an early morning shave, neatly scraping off the fashionable stubble Johel kept to enhance his good looks; Noel looked back at the shaking Johel with pure venom in his eyes before sweetly offering his own sally: "It puts the dress away or it gets the knife again, oh Kupo."

When the pair were hauled before the commander for verbal discipline, Johel looking a bit odd with one cheek shaved and Noel his usual stoic self, all he was reputed to say was: "I thought he'd look better that way?" when asked why the 3rd in command received an uninvited close encounter with Noel's knife.

Thankfully it was blown off as Johel did tend to rub on the commander's nerves; the constant stream of pregnant women showing up to attempt to garnish the commandant's pay did take up far too much time for his legal staff. Johel was sent for a hunt in the desert and Noel was let off with a warning to play nice when he returned.

Unfortunately, that was not the case. The kill was skimpy, a pair of gazelles and Noel's smirk led to a scathing comment by Johel about licking his unit command's gunsaber clean like a woman; coupled with Noel's confusion at not knowing who pierced his ears, it was enough to spark his temper, and he shot back he preferred the taste over Johel's perfumed posterior; and to add the icing on the cake, he threw over his shoulder that he was sure no one knew how he tasted, he was so drenched in every skank's juices from town.

Johel's pride demanded Noel's face introduced to the floor, so he threw himself at the nomad and they scuffled a bit, until the subaltern drew his pistol and bawled to take it outside; Noel & Johel ran for the practice yard and Noel got the upper hand as he'd stopped on a dime and grabbed the back of a shirt sending Johel's feet flying skyward. As Noel raised his fist to start pounding Johel's face into dust, he growled: "Pierce me like I was your next boyfriend, will you? I ought to pierce you, you little-!"

Noel found his fist held in an iron grasp and Lightning's cold voice informing him: "If you have a problem with your new look, then you have a problem with me, Kreiss. Lay off Johel. He's higher ranking and had more power in his spells than 3 men together when he gets head out from between someone's legs. "

Noel was a in a flood of emotions; he angry that he'd been made fun of, plus to find out his private pet had had a hand in it made his teeth grind; and to hear the man-whore praised after he'd loved her body from sunset to sunrise more than once, even  _twice_ in the last week really set him off.

He lashed out in a low kick, dropping his leader on her posterior in the dust & said: "Fine, then WE have a problem, oh Blessed of Etro." He twisted her hand still clenched around his wrist and found the nerve and pressed it, bringing yelp of pain; he hauled her up by the bent hand, jerked her close and softly hissed: "Bitch."

Then the night exploded into stars as Lightning's right hook connected with his jaw; and then the fight was on. They were well matched, and Noel didn't have the advantage of open desert; the practice arena was Lightning's domain, and held her own against her angry young man well. However, as Etro's edicts do tend to go into effect at the worst possible moment, the fight was going to take a bizarre turn.

Lightning did get the upper hand briefly, as the right hook was thrown several times driving Noel's back into the low wall of the practice yard and he nearly flipped over; she reached for his shirt, yanked him back & smirked before coldly informing him just as softly as his recent comparison to a female canine of the lesser sort: "See if I spend a week's pay on love-gifts for you again, you ungrateful little scorpion."

This was insane! A…woman?! Marking a man as her own? It was never done, never! He didn't know whether to be really pissed off, mortified or flattered for a few seconds: ingrained age-old custom fought against a secret lover's delight in finding out his feelings had not only been reciprocated, but just as eagerly pursued of him! Love won, but custom had its consolation prize: challenge & bind.

"Lightning Claire Farron, thou art in mine eye like a grain of sand! I claim the right of challenge- win and you go free, lose and I will claim thee as mine own….wench!"

Lightning's jaw dropped and fear drove her from that moment on; after seeing the pictures from the trader she thought nomads were barbaric and she had no wish to be bound and tied to Noel like…that. Noel was after her like an excited stallion with a mare in heat; the fight now swung in Noel's favor; he did pin her in 5 moves, but as he'd forgotten to take off his wrapped bracelet before the fight, it was trouble to unbind and keep hold of Lightning; he tore at it with his teeth, gnawing through the leather until it fell in loose loops on his wrist; he nearly bit his own knuckle yanking the ring off his middle finger and managed to get it on her wrist despite her bucking hips and thrashing legs trying to gain a foothold. He let go of her other arm to tie it off, desperately gambling that she'd get what was happening and just him finish. 5 seconds was all he needed. 6 seconds later the infamous right hook and a knee into his face after grabbing him by the adorned ears took him into blackness.

He came to wrapped in blackness and smelling like sweaty camel, bouncing over the hindquarters of a mount. She threw him on the sands and threw his double sword into the ground by the rolled saddle blanket and sternly addressed it: "You are free to go. I understand why you fought me; I'm not entirely ignorant of nomad customs. I advise you to just leave me be; I am only good for one thing. Being a woman and soldier is hard enough; but at least this way, no one owns me like I am property and truthfully I'd rather die free on these sands than submit to a man. I'll never forget you. You did get to me like no one else ever will. But….you're not the dominant species today, Noel Kriess. I am not to be owned. So think about that before you come back to my garrison."

A curious coyote sniffed the empty saddle blanket and cut ropes that smelled of hunter and prey before trotting off in the darkness; it was the only witness to a silently running little brother under the stars heading due west to recapture what he'd claimed.

Eons to tame? Of course. But that's all they had on their hands. All of time.

 


	4. Chapter Four

It was nearly midnight when he reached the garrison; he hitched a ride into the kitchen from the shaduf that dipped into the well, soaking himself in the process, but was silently hauled upwards without any effort by the creaking mechanism. A forgotten djellaba on a hook with the hood up made him anonymous, but he stuck to the servant's hallways and stairs anyway. He dropped into Lightning's terrace on the officer's floor and simply sat cross-legged on the terrace until he was sure the other terraces were empty and the room inside was unoccupied. He slipped in, another dark shadow off the wall, and froze as he saw a huddled lump in the darkest corner of the bed; he had missed it, due to the gauzy curtains she kept drawn against the ever-present dust.

Had he seen the weary face & reddened eyelids of a proud, lonely near immortal servant of Etro, he might been aroused to pity, but in the dark, the nomad hunter had none. She was gagged with her towel, then slip-knotted like a sacrificial lamb; he rolled her in a blanket and threw her over his shoulder, then walked out the back hallway like he was throwing out an old rug that squirmed every now and again. The smell of the stables drifted into the blanket and she was thrown over a horse and tied in place, then a lone hunter with a pack horse trotted into the night to the desert, due east.

Noel had the hope of striking a caravan route, where he could ride hard and fast until they were deep in the desert; then he could bind her to him at his own pace; the ears still stung, but the more he thought about how she'd marked him, the more secretly excited he became. She was far stronger than he'd anticipated; and he'd only heard about women who prowled and chose for themselves recently; Lightning would be one wily mare to tame to his hand, if at all tameable; it would take all his wits to keep her between his legs. It was a hell of a risk, but damn,  _Etro_  damn, he wanted her. No one else would do.

He stopped at a hidden oasis, a mere crack in a rock that released slow trickle of water shortly after the noon hour had passed, to rest in the heat of the day. He rolled her out of the blanket and held her head under the trickle until she came to with a splutter. "What the hell – Kreiss!? Are you stoned or just plain stupid? "

"Neither. Both. Drink. We have a long ride ahead. "

Something in his tone alarmed Lightning, so she simply gulped as much as she could, thinking there'd be opportunity later to take his fool head off for kidnapping a Major.

The ride was hard, and Lightning was glad to be sitting upright on a mount ; the heat was intense and the road grew rougher and more desolate with every kilometer they rode. He only stopped for water and cut a bunch of dates at another small oasis near sunset and rode through the night, once the caravan trek had been found; she found herself jerking awake more than once as the trek took its toll on her body; she had been no stranger to forced marches, but they had been on foot, not on mounts; she vowed once she got back to the garrison, they'd all practice forced march on mounts, hopefully dragging a certain pair of blue pants behind them. And over all the cactus she could find, at that! He ate little, constantly taking small wrapped leaves from his waist pack every couple of hours; he only made her eat one, and after she'd spat it out;he shrugged and did not attempt any more. The water was not refused, and he was careful with it. They rested briefly at dawn while he checked the mounts, softly chirruping and clicking in a tongue they seemed to like. He cast a rather worried look at the light djellaba she'd slept in, but they had nothing else but a blanket. He cut it and wrapped her head in a rough keffiyeh, pulling up the hood, then cut armholes for a long caftan-style vest to help shield her fair skin.

That night she shivered and burned at the same time in the saddle from being sunburned and having chilled legs without boots; he showed few signs of weariness, but would stop more often and scan the horizon. The next morning they veered left off the trek towards a smudge on the horizon and by noon, it grew into a shield wall, the worn outcroppings of ancient mountain ranges worn down from strong jagged teeth to worn granite or basalt stumps in the sand. A spot of green was the target; a large lush oasis, replete with waterfalls and series of long wadis filled their eyes with refreshing moisture and color. He stopped a mile distant of the outer edge and carefully set up a windbreak with his blanket, then carefully tended his mounts, ignoring any sounds or movements in the shifting landscape of the hot afternoon. He carefully dismounted Lightning and firmly bade her sit and be still, but 5 minutes later, he changed his mind and gagged her with a piece cut off her keffiyeh. Then he sat comfortably on the ground and went through the motions of chewing a leaf, and carefully drinking a swallow of water in as unconcerned a manner as possible. He heard the soft swish of sand sliding to his right and ignored it, seemingly fascinated by a lizard on a rock ten feet distant.

As the sun hit the horizon, two hours from full sunset, a small cavalcade came galloping up, and three horses whirled and spun in the dust snorting and stomping at the command of their riders. One in a richly embroidered red caftan open over a familiar tight battle shirt with body armor and full loose pants tucked into soft boots called in a mellifluous accent: "Traveller! Give me water!"

Noel called back: "I have that, and tea if you wish it. Come, be my guest of my tent, humble as it may be, rider."

A white smile against a sleek black beard braided into hundreds of tiny strands was his reward. The leader dismounted and Noel immediately rose and ran to his mount to unlash the saddle, offering him a seat, stating the sand was hot; this too was part of the custom, so the rider politely insisted the sand was good enough for any man and squatted in front of Noel's tiny windbreak.

Noel brewed tea and they drank in silence, then the two cups were rinsed and offered to the two guards who'd dismounted but politely stood a few feet off, proudly fussing over the leader's mount and eyeing the captive with interest; they saw the wrapped bracelet on the right hand and immediately knew what the desert boy was about; they couldn't wait to see what was beneath the rough burnoose & keffiyeh.

Noel was politely not questioned why he was in the westernmost edge of the known desert with a city girl gagged and with a wrap on her right hand and without a tribe. All that did matter was that he had been a polite traveler with nomad ways. The Sheik would ask the questions. For the moment, he was to be a guest of their tents tonight.

The cavalcade took off at a run, then playfully let their fine steeds wheel and curvet as they pleased, bringing a gleam of outright envy to Noel's eyes; he had snagged the best from the city garrison stables, which meant his mounts were nothing like these proud beauties. They were steady creatures, but more in the line of a placid pack horse, not a companion for life with the breath of the goddess in its nostrils. The rider's name was Daniel Ibn Ibrahim, son of Sheik Daveed Ibn Ibrahim, a wise wily leader of a tribe some 500 strong and owned twice as many horses. The hospitality was exquisite when he arrived; he was given a tent with no less than three rooms and the tea was of the finest quality scented with cool mint leaves.

The sheik was in a humorous mood and immediately said after formal introductions: "Ahhh, so I see felicitations are in order, you young panther! Show us what's beneath the burnoose! What beauty have you captured from the city?"

Noel grinned with a friendly flash of his teeth, now animal white, as his skin had bronzed even deeper over the last two days. He swept the keffiyeh and hood off in one move and motioned for her to rise. Lightning stubbornly sat still, her aqua eyes sparking with a contained fury at being on display like a common prisoner. He leaned forward and affectionately teased the rough vest off while quietly telling her under his breath: "Stand, or I cut the cloth off you where you sit and sell you to him as is, you jade."

She stood. The sheik walked around her quietly making observations to the gathered men of the tribe all suddenly grinning at the rare beauty before them: "Hmmm…the rose hair intrigues, it reminds me of the demoness of the legend of Cyrian; the eyes, ah, two liquid oases to drown a man…or perhaps the jewels in the hairpins of Baba Yaga herself! Such a lovely face, the bones of a purebred, yet spirited enough to dispel any insipidness of the city life;…and the body, ah Etro, the body is like unto the goddess! Look at the narrowness of the waist, the fullness of her hips; she will bear many children, yet be supple as a reed unto old age…tell me, my son: how did she fight?"

Noel stroked the fading bruise on his jaw deliberately and playfully informed the Sheik: "I'll never forget her recognition of my victory! She served Etro in Valhalla, so one should be wary of her sword. She's not half bad with a gunsaber either, when she remembers some things have tails."

The clever reply brought smiles and laughter to the observers and Daveed was pleased with the young man. He would hear more of the tale after they'd eaten together and waved a pair of serving women towards Noel. They showed up at the tent later laden with gifts: Fresh clothes, water, soap & towels, oil, and a veritable fountain of compliments and speaking looks at his male beauty, which had not gone unnoticed, either. They fussed and groomed and polished away two days and nights of desert travel, ignoring his captive as custom dictated. Lightning silently fumed at the lack of hospitality shown her, not understanding that she was no longer considered higher ranking in importance than Kreiss out here; right now, she was just a newly bound partner, untamed and unknown. She was not nomad, and only nomad counted here. So she became insulted, and sat straighter as the foundation of the wall between them was set into place. She was a soldier, a Farron, and there was hell to pay coming Noel Kreiss' way. To set the first barb in his flesh, she lazily drawled in her best city accent:

"So…you want to tell me what this is about,  _private_  Kreiss?"

He ignored her, and allowed one of the sheik's servants to undress him and wipe his torso clean with cool water followed by oil, then traditional robes were offered as garments which he graciously accepted. They admired the lean physique, lingering over dressing him and the current day nomad's clothing became him well. Loose gauze pants with a much more defined split than the original wrapped pants were tucked into soft boots, cinched tightly with any number of belts, sashes or chains to show off a narrow waist and display wealth; casually one could wear the tight battle shirt with body armor, or throw a loose djellaba or caftan over in any length; the loose robes could be adorned with rich embroidered tribal designs or lines of Etro's Scripts, and if one did not wear a hood to shield from the sun at perihelion, a keffiyeh, or head scarf, was thrown on. He made quite a handsome picture and the girls nearly went bug-eyed at the wealth around his neck and waist.

Lightning knew better than to ask again, observing everything; it was a show meant to humiliate, to bring her face to face of how little she was worth as a woman. She should have known he was just savage wildcat under a veneer of civilization; he apparently was reverting to his early upbringing, casting aside Caius' tutelage & Yuel's adoration. She'd apparently done some insult that made his nomad blood boil; if she could only know what it was, she'd have a chance to salvage the situation. Obviously the earrings were a wrong move; either they implied too much intimacy, or perhaps…It was the fact that SHE had done it to him? Maybe it was for a family member, or a wife to do? Her heart plummeted to her dusty feet when she heard him leave the tent without her, without a backwards glance, and there she was alone in the middle of nowhere, nothing to defend herself with, nothing to help her through the situation but her wits.

While Noel was being fed roast lamb with couscous and figs stuffed with green almonds washed down with sweet minted tea at the main tent and happily taking part in the fahdl, the long conservation every nomad enjoys, Lightning was taking matters into her own hands; she managed to get her feet in front of her and rolled her way over to the double sword hung off a tent pole; she carefully positioned herself and slowly lowered her ankles to the elaborate swirls; the rope cut free but she also had cut her ankle; surprised, she inspected the blades closely and saw the damascened finish, indicating an alloy, not just steel; the metal had a very solid silver white cast, which gave the blade a weird zebra-like finish when viewed close up and at an angle; she mentally catalogued all the metals that were used, and dredged up a memory from a metallurgic smithing and theory class: Iridium. The damned blades were iridium alloy. Not only was Kreiss carrying around the price of a town on his neck, he had the price of his own small country hidden in the blades. She softly whistled, forgetting the stinging ankle.  _Rich boy – but then he did say he was the last, so why not be a rich bastard? He gets all his tribe's wealth. Maybe he was insulted the earrings were too small…Oh, Noh-elle! Do you like my dress? How about my earrings, too?_ she wryly smiled to herself, remembering Johel's jibe as she embellished it.

Now that her legs were free, she could get some feeling back into them. Her calves hurt like hell from overuse and she could barely walk, but at least she was upright. The cut needed tending. Well, she could at least go down to the bathing area and wash up while he was gone, then she'd observe and make a plan. Running without a mount and water and injured to boot would be a sure plan for disaster. She picked up the leftover soap, damp towels and a comb then limped out of the tent towards the sound of running water. Several people looked out from their tents and observed her: some dispassionate, some with a kindly maternal concern, none with any hatred. She slowly waded into the now cold water, hissing as it hit the shallow cut and reddened, chafed skin. She managed a decent cleanup, even washing the djellaba and wringing it damp dry; she shivered with cold as the desert cooled in the dark and thought a fire would help warm her quickly. She walked to the nearest tent and bowed with palm to forehead, then politely asked if a coal to start a fire could be spared. The woman smilingly gave her a small clay bowl filled with coals and quietly called Etro ya'sallaam in parting; Lightning echoed her, and slowly limped back to the little break by the bathing pool and slowly built a fire; she dozed off after warming herself and staring into the flames lost in thought, threads of the tangled puzzle of her situation knotting and unknotting over and over.

She was roughly shaken awake and nearly kicked out in self-defense, frightened. Noel was hauling her to her feet, his face set and tense: "Why are you not back in the tent? Did I give you permission to leave? Why is there blood? "

Stung at his brusque manner she lashed out: "Private Kreiss, even prisoners of war get to take a piss and a shower! "

"Why is there blood? Did you hurt someone? Insult them? Did someone try to force themselves on you? Tell me! " he shook her lightly, before starting to walk away with her in tow. She stubbornly stood her ground and hissed: "Neither, none or no one! I was very comfortable right where I was, so you can just leave me here! Where do have I to go? There is no place to go, except in the sand! …Like I'm going to sleep in the same tent while you get balled by a bevy of serving girls all night? "

"Refuse my tent now, will you? You're not the platoon command or weapons master here, Valkyrie!"

"That's right Kreiss! I am a warrior, not some civilian! You just abducted a superior officer, you fool! I can't –  _I won't_  get you out of this even if it were some obscure nomad custom! You will pay for this! "

Noel kicked the fire out during this seething tirade and turned back to Lightning who was now limping proudly away from him; he kicked her behind the knees and brought his hunting knife to her throat fiercely whispering: "Then you are  _my_  captive, Major Farron. Now you  _will_  obey the edicts of battle and be taken prisoner by my army of one."

She resisted, swinging her arms in a nice double knuckled slam to his gut, but he simply growled and let her drop before pulling her along the ground by the wrists back to the tent as she said a few choice words about his father. Thankfully it was all sand, but the damp djellaba was nicely dirty again. She attacked again this time with her tongue setting another barb in: "You want to be a real man and meet me on the battleground,  _private_  Kreiss? I'm all too happy to oblige you!"

"Ohhh, ok, blessed bitch of Etro, If you want me to treat you like a  _real_ soldier, I can..." he carelessly threw her down over the saddle and pulled her head back up by the hair after kneeling over her legs; her lovely curves were more pronounced as she struggled against the worn leather, but it was in vain; she was helpless and he knew it. He deliberately delivered a stinging slap to those tempting twin cheeks, then ran a hand between her legs, slowly pulling his fingers upwards in a rough caress to leave her in no doubt about what the conquering soldiers do with their captives; He even more roughly told her: "Even the janissaries are allowed each other during deep treks in the desert, if no captives are to be had…so what will it be? It's either me, or the men outside, you jade."

"You little scorpion! "

He pulled her back and wound another length of her hair into his fist and jerked her into his arms; he bent to kiss her, but it was no sweet gentle desert boy in a wadi; it was a savage searing thing, his hand hot upon her breast; a similar savaging occurred after the hand cupped the curve and lips closed over the peak, taut with excitement. It bloomed suddenly and swiftly into a an agonizing white heat, sending her soaring within seconds and just as suddenly it was gone, leaving a frightening throbbing fever in her blood. Shocked, gasping, she was dropped back onto the saddle and laid there, wondering  _what the hell was THAT?!_

"So there's my sting!" He scornfully laughed as he left the tent.

He came back after a good two hours had passed; she had rolled on her side and tried to sleep, thinking she would be sold off to some tribesman when he came back; she needed to conserve what little strength she had left. The deep desert nights were quite cold, once away from the cities of sunwarmed stone and steel.

He brought back a bowl of food and some spare men's clothing for her, plus a small crock of oil infused with herbs to help overworked muscles and sunburned skin. Noel knew she was taxed by the run he'd made to the deep desert with him, and actually felt quite tender about her aches and scrapes; he simply wanted her to realize she was putting herself through too much, simply because she didn't want to face up to her feelings of loneliness; it was a familiar demon to Noel. He silently sat down by her, watching her sleep, a pair of fingers gliding in an ancient movement of observation in the dim light of the lamp hanging from the tent pole. His temper had cooled with the evening breeze and despite the assiduous attention from the female members of his new tribe at dinner, he missed his Lightning sitting in her chair near the fire with a glass, nodding at the harpist plucking a soft melody.

_Why are you resisting me? Did I somehow bring you pain instead of pleasure in those long nights, my wild desert rose? Can't you see I would be perfect for you? I dropped into your arms, not your sister's…why didn't you keep me next to you? I'd have gladly shared that cold world of Valhalla with you, if it meant not being alone anymore. All I ever really wanted was to not die alone. Yeah, a future with people in it was what I said. Even one person would have made it bearable. And two persons together are people. You have only a taste of what it's like to be alone, Claire-who-is-now-Lightning; at least you had a world of people to grow up in; all I had were a handful of tribes and raiders…a seeress…a guardian…Etro, I never saw a woman other than my mother or grandmother for 8 years; and when I did see one, the men fought over her so fiercely, it was like Armageddon. They would have all decimated themselves at the mere sight of you, and I? Here I am, just the same as_ _them_ _, ready to throw you to the janissary-wolves one minute and the next minute dying to have you wake up next to me with a smile in your eyes._

He felt more than heard her breathing change and knew she was awake; he slid down to the rug and propped his head on his hand to meet her eye to eye, calmly, no anger and no arrogance. She imitated him, rolling on her side and propping her head up as much as her bound wrists permitted. She eyed him somewhat warily at first, then spoke: "Why am I here, Noel Kreiss?"

"Etro, are you not woman enough to know?" He almost smiled before continuing; "To bind you to me."

"What do you mean?" She shook inside, as what she'd just heard frightened her in a way she'd never felt before.

"I think you do." He laughed softly.

She gave a soldier's stare in return to the warming embers of his gaze, and writhed in the slow embrace that was drawing her shaking limbs closer and closer against the virile young body. Ultramarine met aqua, the panther's gaze hypnotic with its steadiness and the heady scent of desert myrrh mixed with his warm gilt skin was robbing her of all strength, of all power of resistance. She began to crack as his softly accented voice sexily, scorchingly reminded her: "If it pleases you, it pleases me. I've enjoyed taming you to my hand so far, and you can't hide it from me - you've been lapping it up like a cat with cream up until the day I won the challenge. Why pull away now? You're so close to total bliss. Can't you let go of control and trust me to take you there? And if you are afraid to let go, then let it happen for one time; commit to me even for a single day or just... let yourself submit to it. You may be surprised."

"I hate you." she said it low but clearly enough for him to hear. "I'll never submit again. Once in a lifetime is enough for me…why it isn't for you, I'll never know."

His face showed nothing more than wicked amusement at the disdain on her face; she refused to meet his eyes, the lazy challenge in his voice giving away nothing but a certain eagerness; was it that he was actually looking  _forward_  to fighting with her?

"We have all of time. Love and hate are the only games we have to play in it, so hate is a beginning. In fact, a  _perfect_ beginning. Hate is passionate. It is not indifferent. It is not the cold tune you play for every other man I've seen you with – It's not friendship or laurels or platitudes or any of that shite you offer to everyone else. So hate me. Hate me with all your being, Lightning, blessed of Etro, Valkyrie of Valhalla. Hate me! "

 


	5. Chapter Five

Lightning finally got a rather frightening sense of what immortality must be like after hearing that impassioned statement from Noel's youthful face. It was said with the wisdom of a man whom had eons to contemplate such things, and it did not bode well; what a jade he must be! What subtle tortures awaited her in the near endless future with a man could not age? She shut her eyes, hiding her confusion, which he'd certainly see and use to his advantage somehow. Ashamed, she admitted to feeling a secret rush of excitement at fighting Noel again, and somehow her own apparent helplessness in the current situation made for a swirl of images that rapidly turned erotic. She almost panted at the sinewy leg that casually slid in between hers; a bare foot gently touched an ankle and imperceptibly began to stroke down to tease her toes; it seemed like he would leave no part of her untouched and enjoyed the way she was squirming. Lost in such thoughts she trembled, her skin heating as her body gave away her excitement. Noel felt the wash of warmth flushing her skin, and knew he'd sunk his own barb into her finally.

Noel abruptly rolled away from Lightning & gained his feet like it meant nothing, like she was just another captive in a tent in the middle of nowhere; of course, he was secretly pleased at arousing her passions. He'd take care of the aches and bruises later, after she'd fallen asleep…especially the aches. The last thing she remembered was Noel's wavering shadow against the tent flap as he quietly exited the tent, leaving her to fall asleep to the moan and keen of the night winds brushing the tent. But true to human nature, even the most resolute soul, the firmest of wills, also wavers in in the still of the night…

She slowly drifted in and out of awareness on the soft rug as exquisite caresses slowly travelled over her; she sighed pleasurably and stretched into them, almost purring as her skin receptors rippled in a thousand gentle prods that awakened the life of her inner body; hands glided effortlessly with a slick of soothing oil across her chafed skin, delighting her stiffened muscles and relaxing achingly tense limbs until the Body Lightning sang in delight.

Her inhibitions were nonexistent in sleep, so when the caressing hands smoothly parted her legs, they met no resistance; nor did the soft lips that travelled from ankle to the back of the knee do anything but bring a blissful relaxation. She drifted off again, the remnants of exhaustion pulling her back down in a soft black warmth as an even softer black blotted out the faint firelight; her body accepted an ever-so-slow intrusion of burning heat with a slow welcoming warmth like a ribbon of sun-warmed honey poured from a spoon onto a hungry tongue or quivering finger, anticipating the sweet reward. The soft warm exhalations on her neck only made her murmur with pleased noises, as did the gentle friction deep between her legs;  _more_  was the only message her body felt like talking about, and it simply widened the narrow gap filled by a slim pair of hips, so whatever was making the Body Lightning feel so good could have more access. Her own derriere was boyishly slim, but still rounded and soft as a tame bee; gently, sensually, it enjoyed the push and retreat of a flat belly, erotically slick with scented oil, the softest mouth dropping kisses down the spine before stifling a goddess' name as its own honey poured into the sweetly rocking hips on the rug. They continued to rock, now a silent plea to continue, bring pleasure, more pleasure, as the hungry body had not had its fill.

Lightning slowly awoke for a few moments to an overwhelmingly satisfying feeling of warmth and wetness between her legs; someone was engaging in an extremely intimate act, claiming her body like a conqueror, her face buried into the soft rug as her vanquishing captor hung above her faceless, nameless. The strokes were deep and firm, yet slow as if every inch sinking in was to be savored; the climax pouring into her was a rush of stars blacking her out as she fell back into sleep, crying  _oh please,_ _ **more**_ _of whatever this is_! Her body withdrew into itself, curling up as if it were an addict, craving its own dose of secret personal heroin in the form of a lean young panther of the desert with a softly accented voice whispering scorching words and caresses that demanded attention.

Unfulfilled, her body began to rock and her unconscious mind sobbed in grief and raging need at being left so abruptly. Then whatever had deserted her, the pleasure giver who'd thwarted her so terribly returned; it was welcomed with sobbing relief as gentle hands turned her on her back. The hungry body opened itself wide in anticipation as warm skin rubbed against the backs of her thighs until they rested comfortably across wide flat shoulders and she was now being lapped with a velvety cat's tongue; warm fingers slid in later and began a new rhythm the body liked; it grabbed and hung onto the fingers, gently grasping them with its own rhythm until the two rhythms finally segued to syncopation, then meshed in a symbiotic pounding throb that soared to a thunder in the blood and left with small frissons of bliss as she transcended into a nirvana of heartfelt intimacy; the Body Lightning did not know or care about the name of pleasure giver, it only knew what was given was given with absolute abandon, transcending all earthy restrictions into a total bliss. A soft purr of total appreciation was the reward to pleasure giver, who let her snuggle into the warm skin as she drifted back into blackness.

Dawn's rosy fingers again reached through the tent to gently prod at the eyelids of a captive warrior, who found herself curled against Noel's body, which was starting to stir sleepily. She tried to roll away, but was stopped by a sharp tug on her ankle; her captor had tied her ankle to his, and he lazily reached an arm out and pulled her back without opening an eye, then softly purred in a warning tone for her to lay still, right where she was. She remembered nothing of the evening's activities, except some vague memory of aches and pains being salved. Her aching body was now soothed; she didn't feel quite like the prisoner of war Noel had claimed her to be. For a minute she could pretend it was normal, they were lovers, they were just waking up from a long night of love-play, it was going to be a good day on the hunt or in the practice arena, and he would be there, by her side in the evening at dinner listening to the harp, until the ocean of his eyes drowned her again in desire.

She knew she should get up, find things, map the oasis out, but it felt good to just lie there and enjoy the freedom from the aches and pains of the arduous trek, allow warm bronzed skin to surround her just a few minutes more; it didn't seem hard to justify a full mouth gently nuzzling her neck and shoulder and a soft voice greeting the dawn with  _ya'a saalam'ah'Etro Claire_ ; she weakened appreciably at the sound of her name, her given name, said so; the soft accent rolled off his tongue like bells chiming or the soft clicks and chirrups of the horse language he used: Claairrre; E'Klahre…

Rather uncertain, she repeated the greeting, as the wild desert boy of the wadi was looking at her in the dawn light; the stern demon of the past three days hidden behind the lean handsome face, at the moment calmly taking her expression in. She was puzzled, but decided to get to the bottom of what was going on in Noel's mind today one way or another. So she started with a simple question: "What you said last night, the words…'bind you to me' – what does that mean? "

At last! She was catching on! She was curious, a good sign; Noel cared not if it was a ploy; such were the games one played ,a tricky hunt for each other through a gamut of emotions until there was only one avenue to heaven: Through him. With him. By him. Because of him. "Allow me to answer with a question: What is love, Claire?"

"It's a…feeling, of course."

"No. it's whatever we chose to make it mean. I want you to think about that today. Now, I think it's time to greet the day before it runs away from us, and I promise you a good discussion over the fire tonight about binding…and love…and whatever else comes up."

She arched a brow and dryly said: "I can imagine what you'd come up with."

He slyly tented the drape of the tent curtain out and audaciously quipped: "My sword is always ready to do battle with you, Valkyrie." He grabbed a handful of dates as he carelessly strode out the tent to brilliant sunshine: "Do use whatever is here for yourself, except my swords; and there's clean clothing by the saddle, if you want it." Then Noel was gone, the flapping tent drape showing nothing but blue sky and sand beyond, and she was left blinking in the rose colored rays wondering again if she'd not only gone mad, but was hallucinating.

She carefully examined her body and saw its bruises, chafes and cuts neatly healed, and wondered what Noel had done in the night; she remembered she was exhausted, and had been subjected to the frightening proposition that he was going to subjugate her to his will for all time after the minor scuffle at the bathing wadi. He must have worked on her sometime last night and shrugged. Perhaps he'd seen reason and was changing his mind. Perhaps if she just acted like being here was a minor inconvenience, a mere nomad custom that bored her, he'd simply lose interest and set her on a mount back to the garrison soon.

Waking up wrapped up in him was surprisingly pleasant, and she wished it were under other circumstances, but she decided to simply play along, study, then plan a way to leave unobtrusively. He had set himself up already with his suggestion to try a day of binding, a day under his will.  _Is it that high of a price to pay?_  She asked herself;  _do I have the sand in my shoes to play such a game with him? I admit I'm curious; I want to hear what he says tonight._  A dozen incongruities about him crowded her mind and she was left with a dizzying array of probabilities, none of which seemed to add up into the categories of serial rapist, mental case, or just plain asshole that were common in the army recruits. Noel was quite unlike any man she had met, and something unameable just kept getting under her skin when she was with him. With that thought in mind, she contemplated his question off and on during the rest of the day.

She wandered idly in between tents, wadis and pathways all day; no one bothered her except to smile or raise a palm to forehead in greeting; the woman who gave her the bowl of coals expressed a maternal concern, as she had heard some of the scuffle last night by the bathing wadi, then invited her in for tea. She looked Lightning over closely and satisfied she was not being treated harshly by her new nomad brother in the tribe, she let her go after making her eat and getting as much information out of her as she could, merrily passing it on to the other family members in the tent or nearby; they all admired Noel, and praised her for at least trying to understand what their life was about before returning to the city life; they eagerly invited her back tomorrow after seeing her curiosity at all things in their tent and in the camp; however, they declined to tell her what a binding was until her lover had a chance to deliver the news himself. They carefully explained it was part of their customs to not interfere with the developing relationship until it reached the point of acceptance or rejection; only the Sheik could step in & very few times at that.

She returned to Noel's tent after bathing, which was a far more refreshing experience than the previous night. Someone had left a small flask of scented oil by her towel and comb; its scent was heady, floral, so she guessed her new friends must have left it there as a gift to her. It was similar to the cactus flower, but softer, creamier, with a clearer green note with a sweet undertone that bordered on fruit, but not cloying. It was not in her usual taste, but it helped with the tangles in her hair immensely and she felt completely clean for the first time in four days.

She walked back to the tent with a lighter step and was surprised to see Noel at the entrance with a cup of tea in hand, chatting idly with a pair of men who had the garrison mounts by the bridle; they politely looked to Noel when she was within earshot and he gestured to the tea pot, a long spouted affair sitting on a tray just inside the tent flap. She almost bridled at being his servant, but hid the anger by throwing her hood up; better he think her surrendering, giving in, and was already becoming docile. She'd be gone soon enough. She poured them all tea with a flourish, and they were charmed by the way she had hidden herself in the hood; one discreetly flirted with her through her captor and said to Noel: "What luck to have two oases in our sight! If a panther does not drink at one, then we would gladly be led by the chain to drink at the other!"

Noel shrugged, pretending indifference, but could not hide a flash of possessiveness in his eyes before replying: "Good luck on that chain, my friend. I was knocked out giving her that gift!" Nodding at the leather wrapped bracelet; He added: "Speaking of chains, do you know the metalworkers ?" They continued on, as he walked them to the main pathway, and embraced in parting. Lightning's heart sank, as he had just sold the garrison mounts to the men; now she had no way to leave, unless she stole a horse.

She was better at hiding her feelings behind her eyes than he, and managed a smile despite the setback. Encouraged, his face lightened at the sight, and he threw himself down on the rug, and waved her to a seat by him. "We stay in tonight – tomorrow we have a task. Be prepared to ride, but it will be pleasant, not battle." He sniffed the air appreciatively and somewhat teasingly asked: "Did you save me any oil? "

A bit startled, Lightning handed him her half full flask; the scent had a distinctly feminine note, and she wondered for a moment at his easy acceptance of something so feminine. Back at the garrison, they'd all wondered at the loose skirt-like pants and the amount of adornment he'd had on; coupled with his way of standing well within the invisible boundaries of anyone's personal space, looking intently at the person's eyes, he'd given a conflicting impression of feminine traits. Indeed, he was handsome to the point of beautiful, but there was a certain willful set to the brow and his stance that indicated a firm masculine personality resided within. He seemed indolent and sybaritic at times, enjoying the feel of anything sensuous, from richly colored silks to smooth cool marble floors, to the finest argan oil on his skin, which he seemed to be judging at this very moment. The pleasure on his face at feeling the silky oil, free from grit and the depth of scent bespoke cultured taste, not barbarism; she noted the incongruity and sighed at the odd duality of human nature.

Noel put the flask aside quietly stating he would teach her some of the traditional techniques of using oil tonight to while away the hours; he thought to himself it would be a good counterpoint to the conversation he was going to initiate over the fire; but first, dinner was calling both their names, so he built up the fire, and brought out a pair of skewers filled with meat that had been soaking in a mix of oil and sharp herbs since it was killed this afternoon. Dinner almost became a light hearted affair as they relaxed and let their shields down as the sun set. Noel's description of the chase that brought the gazelles down enlivened his normally stoic face, and Lightning responded in kind with a rather easy smile for the first time in three days.

When the time came to start the discussion about binding, Noel propped his back up on the saddle and commanded her to attend. All nomads love stories, and Noel was no different. He was a trifle vain about it, as he had been trained to tell stories at an early age by his father to carry a crushing load of human history, being last born. He could recite the entire old testimony of the twelve tribes by eight, and he delighted in seeing Lightning's enraptured face when the harpist played at the garrison; he felt she would have a finer appreciation of his stories; besides, he had worked hard on training his voice; just because he didn't speak much and used one word when two would do didn't mean he was a dumb brute animal.

After staring into the coals of the brazier for a small space, he started to tell the story of the first binding:

"The gods created man first, than woman according to the scripts of Etro, although some argue that Bhunivelze created woman for his own amusement!...And tonight I will tell you a tale of amusement - one of how the two beings, male and female, came to be joined as one – The tale is called in my tribe 'The Moon came Courting'.

"In the old days the Gods came down from heaven to walk among us, especially the Lord of the Underworld and his brother, the Moon. They were fascinated with the Lord of Light's creations, and the frail, transient beauty of humanity was irresistible draw. Many of the Gods and demigods played with Bhunivelze's creations. The Dark Lord and the Moon pursued the beauty of human flesh because it simply amused them; it was said the Dark Lord invented the game of love, which the first man stole from The Lord's servant, Lindzei the snake, before he was cast from the garden of Eden. His brother the Moon would laughingly watch his brother and shake his silvery head at the tears and pleas of whatever human his heartless brother had enraptured, and just as heartlessly dallied with just as many maidens, seducing them in his beautiful tent, all silver like his glorious glowing presence.

Indeed, it was a wondrous thing; the tent was cleverly disguised as any nomad's black tent on the sands, but the telltale sign was the east awning lamp: It shone with a steady gleaming silvery light, just like the moonbeams we see every night. "

Lightning curiously interjected: "Noel, wait! I saw all the tents here had colored glass in the lamps - red, blue, green...but no silver - is that why?"

Noel gently smiled and gave his sidelong appraisal of approval and nodded as he spoke: "Clever of you to notice, Valkyrie; we nomads always have lamp on the east awning, and yes, they are colored so we are never tricked by elementals like the moon's silver light, or by demons, whose lamps burn yellow green, like the phosphorescence below the earth in caves. Now, attend to my tale, beauty..."

"Once inside, it was as if one was in heaven; the curtains were cloth of silver, the rugs were silver thread, but were soft as the finest silk, woven by the Djinni of the Underworld; when you walked across one, it was as if your footsteps left behind were soft molten silver, and the bed,…ah, it was soft as clouds and strewn with so many silver brocaded pillows, one could build a mountain to the heavens! The trays, the lamps, the bowls and tea cups, all, all silver; the display of wealth was only the first stroke to seduce his human morsel. He would casually leave out the loveliest garments carefully embroidered in silver thread, or strewn with brilliants like stars in the sky; if that failed to please, a chest of exquisite jewelry was invisibly waved forward, with djinni masterworks in white metals, delicate as lace, set with all manner of gemstones in white: pearls, diamonds, zircons, and his favorite, the moonstone. He never offered food, but drink in plenty, intoxicants to bring the firmest resolve to nothing but eagerness, but even so, a few hearts were stout and clung to their memory of their beloved, so he crafted a clever trick with the help of his brother's Djinni. The one thing that never failed to weaken a maid's resolve was the roof of the tent above the bed; it was dark as the night sky, strewn with thousands of diamonds and magically glamoured; the Moon would lie back with his plaything and playfully ask her name, then write it with his finger in the air; then the diamonds would arrange themselves and spell the name as he would turn to her and charmingly say: "So I will never forget you in my lonely nights!"

Now, things had been going in this vein for some time for the moon, and soon he became bored, then jaded and cruel. He sought many times to break a heart just because he could; men began to curse the Moon, for they had their lovers, their sweethearts and sisters, daughters give up their dearest possession all for naught, the inconstant fickle Moon.

However, one man was clever, and planned to outsmart the Moon and his heartless ways; His name was Ishmael and he had been pursuing a gem of a woman from the tent of his tribe, a dark haired beauty named Inanna. Now, Ishmael and Inanna were truly in love with each other, and feared the appetites of the gods; at first they thought to trick the gods and tried various disguises: Inanna would pretend to limp, or hid behind a veil and cackled like an old woman to throw the hungry gods off; but as luck would have it, the moon espied her when bathing at the wadi and became enamoured of her; he courted her most extravagantly, and almost daily love-gifts arrived; each night he would stand outside the tent with his lamp of moonbeams and quote poetry or make music to tempt her to come to him. Now, her father and the elders of the tribe were loath to annoy the gods, especially an elemental like the moon; they berated Inanna for not going to the moon and giving him what he wanted; she held firm for some time, until her father threatened to forbid her the tent over her head; she ran to Ishamel and wept on his strong shoulder, thinking her life was not hers to command; she wished with all her heart Ishmael would declare himself and spare her the humiliation of being the moon's paramour. Ishamel did adore his Inanna, and did his best to help her through the rock and the hard place. Before he knew it, he was on his knees quoting his grandfather's love-poetry and kissing her ankles peeping out from the long veil; Inanna grew faint from desire and before she knew it, her legs parted allowed her Ishamel a glimpse of heaven that the moon so eagerly desired.

Ishamel was now a man with something to lose, and decided to keep her virtue untouchable except by his hand alone, he desired her so much – it spoke volumes of his courage, that he was willing to fight the moon for such a woman! He thought carefully about everything humans knew about the moon, and found something so simple, even a child could do it. He knew the moon could never cross into day, and simply set a trap to keep him occupied until dawn. He had yards of golden chain set aside for his bride-price, and armed his wits and the chain, he approached Inanna: He begged her to hear him out, using his most tender words and gestures to sway her opinion. Undressing his peerless love to her pretty pale skin, he carefully wound and knotted the chain until it resembled a beautiful lace pattern of gold over her luscious curves, then sealed it with a kiss, which magically enhanced the wish of their hearts: no hand but Ishmael's would touch Inanna's body.

That night, when the moon came courting, she shyly stepped outside her family's tent and appeared to listen raptly to the smooth silver-voiced elemental speaking of Inanna's beauty in verse; she allowed herself to be mounted on his steed, a great white stallion with a silver star, then ride for his tent in the depths of the desert; she pretended to be awed at the gleaming silver tent, but took no wine, only water. He led her to the bed, and lay her down with his cheap petty trick; he spelled her name and the diamond stars rearranged themselves to her name as if sparkling in the night sky; then the Moon set himself to disrobing the girl; upon seeing the golden chains crisscrossed on her lovely curves, the Moon was surprised and playing to his confusion, Inanna knelt and pretended to burst into tears, crying she was not fit for the noble Moon. A cruel lover had cursed her. He moved to simply cut them asunder, but she begged him to unwind them, as she could tell if they were bound by magic to cut her if cut. He blanched at the thought of her lovely body crisscrossed with scars and slowly tried to unwind them, but it was slow going; and yes, Inanna also was clever, hindering the poor moon with small screams as if the chain was tightening around her flesh and pleading for him to slow down, she could feel the magic burning into her skin; she interspersed it with long lines of poetry, expressing her admiration of the handsome moon, going into verbal ecstasies over his silver hair and pale flesh. The trick worked and she was still wrapped about the hips by the time the dawn broke; as he began to fade in the growing light he asked: " Who was it that has bound you so well to them, lovely Inanna?" She only smiled and wrote the name with her finger and the diamonds in his tent-sky arranged themselves into the name Ishmael.

The gods were watching and had a hearty laugh at the couple's cleverness, so they set a punishment on the moon: For his everlasting fickleness, he must wax & wane every night, one night for each year he had dallied on the desert sands of their world. And that is how the moon waxes and wanes with each cycle, my rose-haired beauty!

Inanna stayed bound to Ishamel and until the day she died, she wore his chains; it was passed down as a symbol of love and protection, that no one shall touch what is another's.

And that, my beautiful E'Claire, is the story of the first binding between a man and a woman."

Noel looked up under his lashes and discreetly coughed to clear his throat; Lightning broke her rapt expression and nearly jumped for the tea, almost eagerly offering him a cup to wet his throat; the story was amusing and far better told than she thought it would be; another incongruity about Noel Kreiss to add to the current list. She'd have to re-think him again; his trained eloquence was rather delightful, and she wondered how he was changing; being around people was one thing, but being with his people was bringing out a side of Noel that began to make her go soft inside; she'd had only a glimpse in the garrison, and this tenderly charming young man letting his fingers linger on hers as she handed him a tea cup was altogether a far stronger seduction than ten of Johel.  _What is happening to me? I should be angry…but I'm all eyes…_

"So…the tribes followed the legend of Ishmael? It is like marriage, then, Noel?"

"It is not only marriage, but for two souls or two hearts to learn to beat as one. You can't keep a people alive if two mates have two different directions in life, Claire. You asked me what love was this morning, and I will say love is an integral part of binding; but so is the discipline of teaching. Although men and woman are fundamentally human with the same needs, there are so many differences in perception it makes us like a separate species to each other. For example, a woman will be slow to be attracted to a man, but over time, she slowly changes her perception of him by observation of his actions, his character, and her loves grows; it is seldom the lightning bolt from heaven, yes?

In contrast, men will love with their eyes immediately, hastily overlooking character in their pursuit of what their eyes are filled with; then upon possession, they begin to learn of the person behind the image, then their love slowly drains away like a spilled flask of oil in the sand: Like the fickle Moon , we waver, growing then shrinking in interest - unless we are patient and follow Etro's script and truly understand there is a right place, a right time a right person for everything, especially for the needs of your soul. Too late men learn that beauty is not always a fair face and form; sometimes it is the strength of a heart, or the keen beauty of a saber's edge..."

"Binding helps bring it all into balance, in a way. If it does not work, then both are free to walk away."

Lightning was puzzled at this speech, because it seemed to her that Noel was trying to exercise total domination over her being - it seemed a far cry from the tender tale of Ishmael & Inanna. So she carefully asked him: "What is your take on this as a man? What is the man's point of view? Can you please tell me...more?"

Noel held his cup out to be refilled with more tea, sweet, hot & strong, scented with cardamon tonight. He was absolutely thrilled she'd asked how HE felt! Now, he could get somewhere with her, she'd settle down and accept him more easily, once he explained his role as a man in binding with a woman. She just had to see he was serious about her!

"E'Claire, lie back a moment and close your eyes and think of the men you've known. Then throw them onto the trash heap of your memory & burn them! Look, attend to me, I am different. We Nomads are not just men, we are a righteous men, and carry much in our hearts. We respect what has made us; how many city men can quote the scripts of Etro from memory? We strive to be patient; the desert teaches us the absolute harshness of life here on Gran Pulse. We all know a secret the city men do not: we are all interdependent on each other. When you are left alone with nothing but sky and sand, it tests your soul, your heart as well as your body. Life is precious, and I do not say that just because I am last born from the end of time, I say it because it is what the desert taught me.

Being a man at the end of time also taught me something: loneliness; and not for just any face that was not my own, but for a mate. I wanted to die when I finally understood what last born meant: It meant I would die alone, no lover, no friend to bury my bones or grieve for me."

"I was blessed beyond all men when Etro gave me a future I said I wanted: one with people in it; but the real thing I prayed for was someone…for me. Just one person, who'd look for my face, who'd have my name on their lips, someone to love. Now, imagine if you will, trying to find someone after eons of loneliness. You search, you wait, you pray, then give up. Then you get dropped in the arms of what you longed for all your life. We see this incredible creature in front of us, we are intrigued, we want to spend much more fulfilling time in your company. What do you say? Do? Of course you make a mess of it, no road is smooth; but you keep trying. How do I describe when we are exhilarated at the very sight of someone, the sound of their voice, their lightest touch? How do we express our all consuming passion then? We are civilized beings, not animals who rut one moment and forget the next. It is the passage of time, of memory that makes us nomads different.

So...eventually you find a way, just as Ishmael and Inanna did and allow yourself to be flung off the precipice with total trust in each other to a place of enlightenment. Ah, can you imagine such bliss?"

Noel quietly laughed, his vanity well pleased at the softness of her eyes now; then craftily, cleverly, let the honey of a come hither roll off his tongue, deliberately inserting the soft rolling R's of his tribe that he knew caught at her ear: "Can you blame me for wanting something of the same for myself, Claire?"

"I want that bliss, that burning ecstasy, even if it only happens once in my life…but I think all it takes is the right partner, and…time. And you and I, we have not years but centuries to play in, if we chose…"

His voice lowered to a murmur, velvety: "What is an hour, or a day or two compared to that? It is but a blink of your eye; how often do you count those? Let yourself go with me on a journey; they say the undiscovered country is far more exciting than the well-trodden paths of mediocrity."

He could see she was visibly fascinated; her eyes were no longer lynxlike, but intense, open, unafraid.

"You do not have to answer now; it is but the opening of a dialogue between us, between Claire and Noel; and I? I will allow you to taste the sweetness and the pain for a full day and night without penalty, because…"He drew a shaking breath before saying it: "Because I want you. I truly want you for my own."

Lightning was filled with a rush of emotion she could not name; she felt the depth of his loneliness, yet it was clear he recognized no law but his own wishes when it came to love….if it could be called that. Dare she trust him for a day? She had no answer in her, except the call of the body bliss, so she stayed silent, thoughtfully looking at him in the firelight.

The silence filled the tent before Noel shook his shaggy head then said: "Ah, enough of stories tonight; hand me the oil, and I'll show you some of the basics about using it out here in the sand. Your new friend has good taste, by the way; I haven't smelled night jasmine in a long time." He busied himself with rummaging for towels and kicking off his shoes to get comfortable.

"Can I pick the day? Or is it part of the custom to pick it yourself?" Noel's heart pounded and his blood sang for a few moments as he heard that –he hadn't expected this at all! He decided right then and there she would get a taste tonight, seeing as she was THAT interested: " I will allow you your pick, with my own caveat: Before the next full moon. Agreed?"

"Agreed, Noel Kreiss. I hope I hear you tell me more stories; it made me laugh, and understand about how things are out here, in the sand. "

He definitely preened himself after hearing that and gallantly replied: "I'll quote you the entire book of The Lover, provided you don't fall asleep on me, girl. You'll like Balle and the anvil; it makes your old lover Johel look like a nun!"

The lesson of using oil was a seduction in reverse which Noel thoroughly enjoyed teaching; most men would have tried to use the oil on the woman and get their hand or face slapped for layng hands where one shouldn't; they foolishly left the woman to say yes or no. He decided to let her think she was in control by handing her the oil and making her the hands, he the body. He talked her through warming it with her hands, testing the scent, how to filter any grit before applying it, especially when in the sand.

He lay back on the rug and pillows, describing the hand movements, then expressed with non-verbal cues what he enjoyed; it was she who pulled the shirt off later, and daringly untied the drawstring of the loose pants until he was nearly unclothed on the soft rug. Noel let his head fall back and shut his eyes as the hands worked tension loose; he gave evidence of pleasure with soft throaty sounds until she felt she had total control of the situation; she felt confident that he was hers to command. And command she did later... _ohh yes explore me, touch me, find the secrets of my body you pretty little lynx face...I love it that you're curious about me and yes, i like your hands there, you can go lower, i won't bite...maybe i'll sting,but hurt you? never._

Slowly, she became charmed by him during this evening of revelation and exploration. It wasn't that he was some herculean warrior rippling with muscles, the massive, deep-thewed, wide chested brawn of furry masculinity most women swooned over. He was lean as a greyhound, long reed-like limbs and an absurdly slim waist, but Etro, when he dropped his shirt, her breath would catch at the lean symmetry of the bronzed torso and the pop of veined biceps and triceps on his tanned arms. His hands were big, but well-shaped, a square palm with long fingers that could be gentle as a breath of air; the swordsman's calluses were a subtle excitement that matched the rock solid wrist when they touched her. His face was becoming addictive in its own right; she was fascinated at the way Noel was moaning and arching into her hands, eager to feel pleasure, just like a woman - then a wild, strange desire took hold of her and she suddenly wanted to be the one to bring him to that nirvana of ecstasy he had talked of earlier- how would he know what it is? How does a man who'd been a virgin until two months ago know about breaking through the gates of ecstasy?

Lightning was quite surprised at her odd trail of thoughts during the gentle exploration of Noel's oiled, now-sexy body - again another puzzle piece that didn't fit the image of the stern demon bent on dominating her body soul for the next eon; he seemed more like someone who just wanted something more than what most women offered. She gently chucked him under his chin to look up, somehow wanting to know what he was thinking, feeling - his eyes would tell no lie she thought to herself; and true to her self-prediction Noel's eyes were now clear and steady; she couldn't help but remember how she'd compared him to a panther cub, all innocent playful gaze and soft coat and briefly smiled at him with an amused tenderness and almost playfully herself let her lips graze his then rub gently against a bronzed cheek. Noel contentedly laid there against her for a while until she drifted off to sleep under the saddle blanket she pulled on top of them both. Then he silently rose, and stared at the cascading embers of the night fire for the longest time the clean browline knotting and unknotting as he reflected upon the day's lesson.

The dawn was again sweet and clear, and again Lightning felt the tug of a rope on her ankle as she tried to rise; but this time she smiled, now thinking it more of a whimsy of her desert lover, instead of thinking she was a prisoner of war. He was apparently feeling whimsical, as she was rolled back into him ungently as he pulled his ankle back.

"Since when do you think it's fine to rise without giving a greeting the nomad way to Etro? Ahhh...I see how you are now...you must be a sister to the moon, seducing innocent nomads and disappearing with the dawn!" He elegantly dropped a hand over his face and said into the air: "I should have known by that damned rose tint of your hair - I am doomed! How will I live with the shame?"

"Oh Ishmael, if you were serious, you might have used golden chain instead of camel rope!" holding a slim ankle up she shook it at him.

He burst into laughter at that, and gave in, untying the rope. "Eat quickly, but not heavily. We will be active today in the sun. Can you drape a keffeyah? It will keep the sun from hurting you."

15 minutes later, they were striding to Daniel's tent where a group of men and women were gathered. she shyly tugged at his djellaba sleeve: "What, Claire?" She quietly said: "Ya'asalaam' ah'Etro, Noel Kreiss."

His face lightened all over and he walked with a spring in his step to the small knot of men around Daniel. After a list was checked, they all were herded to the corral of mounts and paired off on camels; then they trekked for a few miles to another side of the oasis beyond the shield wall, where a small green valley was guarded by men and horse boys – it was a lovely sight to see the herd wheel like a flock of birds as the men whistled in greeting.

The day was spent observing and choosing horses; apparently Noel had made a purchase with the tribe; he never directly acknowledged her picks from the herd, but ensured she overheard his discussion of each horse's attributes with the men nearby; she slowly realized he was doing it for her benefit and education of desert horses and soon realized how much more he knew about them than she; her choices were soon picked apart by the Noel's observations of their stride, how they moved, or didn't, with the herd, the way a foreleg bent at the knee, how the hocks turned in or out too much and a hundred other small observations that made up a good mount.

Noel finally settled on two matched bays, brother and sister, a season apart; Daniel was well pleased with his new tribesman, and began to teasingly call him his brother. The men went into separate the buyer's picks from the herd, and then a long afternoon of breaking them back to bridle and saddle happened. The women were not confined to mundane tasks - many were called upon to help with taming, based on skill; some were far more talented in getting a horse to accept a bridle or a weight in the saddle than the men; Lightning was politely requested to bring water to the horses and later pour tea to anyone who wanted it; she wandered in awe of the beautiful creatures and their restless fiery spirits; one even had a muzzle so delicate it could fit into a comfit-bowl; the mare tossed her dark mane coquettishly after daintily sucking a cool drink from Lightning's water bucket; she smiled despite herself and teasingly spoke to her as if she were able to understand: "Oh, Inanna! You should be careful whose bucket you drink from! Does my water shine like the moon today? Or the sun?"

The small group of men and women nearby suddenly had wide white grins upon hearing that and much tickled at her gentle wit with their prized pick, they called out:" Inanna! Eennaanna!" at the lovely black-blue coated mare and she pricked her ears and eagerly trotted forward; they all laughed and started to caress the creature, then gently led her off to be saddled.

Her new owner was a girl of thirteen, and thrilled to have her as her first mount as gift from her doting father. However, the horse became impatient to rejoin the herd and threw her overconfident rider; danger arose quickly as the herd was slowly thundering across the rise to them; so Lightning ran for all she was worth to the horse & downed rider; others were screaming & waving keffiyehs at the other men; she made the choice to swing on the horse and get her calmed to stop her from bolting or trampling the girl, who was just starting to stir on the sand.

Inanna-horse was now a fiercely independent thing and bucked wildly, her new rider heavier and less foolish ; then she fought to get the bit in her teeth; shaking her head furiously, she bolted towards the herd, and was sucked in; Lightning saw Noel galloping full speed towards the girl, then dipping down, one leg around the saddlehorn as he pulled the girl up and threw her across the horse and galloped off; she yipped in joy at his incredibly brave move. Then Lightning turned her attention back to her mount Inanna; she fought for command of the bit, but her arms quickly tired from pulling the nose into the chest and she almost lost control until Noel reappeared through the dust clouds and matched the bay's pace to Inanna's. The mare calmed enough to let the bit go after a few minutes, then he leaned over and grabbed the ear and then the bridle, slowing her then pulling her out of the herd.

"Give me the reins!" he commanded. "Come! To me!" Was the next – he yelled above the dull roar and whinnies: "Kick a stirrup loose, push off the saddle and hold my sash – I won't let you fall." She landed in his saddle and he slowly drew her close. Noel turned the horses back to now distant people – dust streaked his face, they both were flecked with horse's lather & smelled of horse sweat but the exhilaration was sky high.

The family blessed Noel & Lightning as soon as they were within earshot, and the father earnestly promised his child would serve Noel to pay back the life-debt incurred. Lightning was hard put to accept Inanna as a gift, but Noel stepped in and teasingly whispered to the man to not rob him of the pleasure of a love-gift to his rose haired bind-mate; besides, he was half afraid she'd bolt just like the horse in the night in the back of his mind; he could see the slump of her shoulders at letting the lovely black go. Noel asked that his child help teach her nomad ways and be a companion to his woman, which was agreed to with delight. Satisfied, the two groups parted and they cantered off on the bay. He noted her silence and the way she hid her disappointment, still like a soldier. He wished he could reach her, he was frustrated that for a while it seems they were as one, but the horse seemed to divide them.

Daniel called out when they rode up and the son of the sheik grinned ear to ear, despite the dust on his face and beard: "So! I see you have your mount nicely in hand; are you ready to come back tomorrow and tame his sister to your lady's hand?"

Noel had the grace to blush under the dust before replying: "She nearly had one for each hand today! Etro, that was a close call for the girl!"

"Ah! Erienne's tent always did have cheeky little gits! You should have taken the horse, and taught the little jade a lesson! See you at the fire later, Noel!" Daniel saluted Lightning with a flash of dark eyes and a hand to forehead before rakishly grinning and galloping off to chase the camels. Noel made to do the same, but Lightning's hand on the reins stopped him.

"Did I misunderstand Daniel, or did he just let me know you bought me a horse?"

He was silent, but looked at her, not wishing to tell her until the moment was right. But some god knew the time was right and nudged Lightning instead.

Wordlessly she turned in the saddle and looked at him, straight in his eyes; ever so slowly, she laid her head against his shoulder, then turned to him, and hid her face in his robes. Almost smiling, hidden against his chest, hearing the steady beat of his heart she thought:  _He really cares for me. He didn't leave me to struggle with a half broken horse - He bought me a superb gift! Tonight's the night. I will tell him I choose tonight to be with him – if this is what binding means, I just might be for it._  The wild desert scent of Noel, spicy myrrh and clean warm skin filled her nostrils as he drew her closer then Noel whispered to himself:  _Tonight. Let it be tonight._

"Tonight." Was all she said. Then they were off, like the cool wind at sunset, sweeping across the sands.

 


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes: Please note that a line from a lovely set of love lyrics written by Laurence Hope was paraphrased as the harpist's line Lightning remembered; simply put, it was the perfect verse that captured Lightning's state of mind. Again, there is absolutely no intent of financial gain or profit intended with the penning of this offbeat alternate universe romance between two final fantasy characters; it's just for the amusement of it all...Now, attend to my tale, o beloved reader:

The stallion left at a gallop, leaving the two riders to become acquainted with each other as the creature gave into its pleasure of galloping in the cooling sunset air of the desert. Noel's mental voice rose in praise  _Etro, oh Etro, bless you! Tonight! Tonight! Tonight!_ sung in a sing song to match the tattoo of hooves galloping across the sands. He felt like a child again, held safe in loving arms; his heart was moved to a deep tenderness & he was profoundly grateful to the point of tears at being so close to escaping an eternity alone. His heart was lifted to the heavens passing before his eyes as her head lolled back on his shoulder; _Oh please, please let this peace in me last a little longer, no one has ever done for me what this woman has, Etro! I will never be alone again!_

Lightning's heart was also lifted by the wild ride across the desert; she found herself in a silent conversation with her captor, communicated only with the lightest of touches, the subtlest of movements in her non-verbal vocabulary. She felt she could ride forever cradled against Noel's body , ride into the rising moon, all though this stark landscape of sand & sky, away from everything civilized until she was cleansed of the twisted plots, the burdens of leadership, the endless battles she had fought in for too long. She wished that life was simple again, they could just be Noel & Lightning, two lovers with nothing but a world of sunset skies & endless sands to explore. "Why not?" Noel spoke aloud.

"Eh?"

"Why not just let it – this – ride for a while? After all, we are touched by Etro – nearly immortal. We've got quite a bit of time to fill, so why not… take that road less explored, so to speak? Like just ride past that horizon and keep riding tonight?"

He simply held her closer and reined in, quietly observing the sunset for a while in silence. Vardi & Vasht the evening twins hung in the upper firmament of deepening turquoise, pair of dazzling messengers for the lovely evening to come. He finally spoke with a soft peace in his voice he'd never used before: "- Of all the universes and timelines I've been in, I never stopped looking to the stars; now…I see Etro has gifted me with one of her own jewels of the heavens to light my way."

The bay, having a mind of its own, mostly on dinner, snorted softly & looked back at the pair of humans on his back, now in that peculiar state of mind called romantic. Seeing as they paid no attention to him whatsoever and the reins hung loose, he took matters into his own hands and started to the fires at a leisurely ramble. He was well rewarded later with a bag of grain and hastily filled bowl of dates, which he loved dearly; he snorted his appreciation as the shaggy headed one with the voice he understood rubbed his back until the quiet rose headed one came; then they slowly walked to a bigger tent, their shadows tall as gods against the firelight.

They returned later when the sands had cooled, the two clinging together to share the woolen burnoose that smelled of myrrh resin and the clean wild scent of horse-speaking one; the bay's ears swiveled at the sound of a soft trill and click as they entered the tent and now content, dropped his head to nap.

The dinner had been delicious, Daniel had been well pleased with the way things were going; he had yet to learn that Noel's object of interest was someone he'd heard plenty of when visiting the city, but knew she was not a domestic woman; he saw the gleam in her eyes when she saw his gunsaber and the wary yet calm manner she possessed the first night. He thought Noel was handling the courting the right way, a horse was a perfect gift for any warrior; in fact one of the buyers today had been a janissary, the high caste of nomad warriors; he was buying his partner a superb dapple grey. The young man had nearly wept with gratitude as his generous lover gently handed him the reins; so, Daniel was disposed to be in an ebullient mood, anticipating a similar scene taking place tomorrow between the handsome little brother and the oasis eyed swordblade of a woman sitting to his left. With affection, he saw how protective, yet respectful Noel was of his chosen, even cutting dainty tastes off his own plate for her. She ate just as daintily, carefully taking his offering off the knife, with an occasional sly nip of sparkling white teeth. Daniel caught his wife's eye and she smiled at him, remembering a similar young lion of the desert feeding her on their night of binding. She nodded and started to make a mental list of things the lovely rose-haired janissary woman might need, like a hunting knife, a boot knife, rope, maybe a garrote; it looked quite likely the challenge would be be given soon – she knew that hungry look in the young hunter's eyes. She hoped the woman was a good fighter – it had been so long since they'd seen a high caste match happen and a fight between two warriors like this was not to be missed!

Finally, they escaped into the cold night, Noel rather daringly pulling her close with the excuse of shielding her from the night winds in his heavy woolen burnoose; in some ways dinner in Daniel's tent had been torture, as both were impatient to be alone with each other. Bathing at the wadi had been hurried, as the water had cooled and the night was coming on. Both longed for the massive hot baths of the garrison, but made do in the tent with pitchers of hot water. As Lightning rinsed herself, Noel threw their saddlerolls together over the low divan in the main area and pulled the heavy brocade coverlet over the lot to make a warmer bed for both of them; he anticipated her company would be warming also, and spoilt, sybaritic creature that he was, he wanted pleasure of all his senses. The fur of the saddleroll and Lightning's smooth skin together at the wadi was still fresh memory for him; then his turn at the hot water came, which was more torture, as he was hard put to keep control over his body's natural excitement as she stayed and poured the hot water over him like an offering and stroked him dry afterwards, carefully combing his hair before reaching for the oil flask; then he gave into his body's demand for pleasure of the senses, drifting off to sleep into a haze of small fulfilled pleasures as they slowly twisted into a Gordian love knot in the warm blankets of the improvised bed. Passion would have its way later in the night.

Noel awoke a little before midnight, as the rising night winds made the east awning lamp slap against the pole with a disconcerting rattle; even more disconcerting was the empty space by him – she was gone! Oh no! His heart began to beat in painful thumps; he had been fooled; she had just played along until she could find the right moment to run from him; he was damned for all eternity to be alone, it was cruel joke on him, he'd done something wrong – he'd been too kind, too trusting. The knife blade in his chest now was now burning, so he got up, threw on clothes and decided to smash the damned lamp, the noise was not adding to his evening, which was now ruined. She'd deserted him. Etro damn it all, was he so unloveable? The lamp stopped clinking against the pole, and now in a foul black mood he strode to the tent flap and jerked it open, only to have a robed figure tumble into him; they both went down on the carpet and he rolled, pulling his knife; his wrist was caught in a small steely grip and a fiercely whispered "Noel!" stopped him dead. He dropped the knife and just as fiercely kissed Lightning, relieved she had not run after all; now exasperated, he shook her and growled: "Where did you go? Why did you leave the bed? Did you run from me? What did I –" she impatiently stopped his flood of interrogation with a hand over his mouth and nearly growled back: "The damned lamp woke me up! And Ishmael was frightened of it, too! It's his first night with us! Shouldn't we bring him in tonight? "

Noel's mind grabbed onto the pronoun 'us'; and that one little thing hit home – us. Not you or I, but us. A party of two or more. He wasn't alone, he wasn't deserted, he had her in his arms and a jumpy horse for company to boot. Suddenly content, he teased her with: "You want Ish to sleep with us in our bed tonight? – my, you take the custom, um, extremely well!" This brought a rill of laughter in response and he felt her head shake on his chest as she briefly hugged him; he silkily suggested; "Let's stay up a while and see if he calms down, now that the damned lamp has stopped making a din in all our ears."

"Just exactly how did you plan on staying awake, you little scorpion?" She dryly commented, as warm hands kept pulling at her loose clothes until they were a heap on the floor and she was heartlessly yanked down to be taken possession of in a way that guaranteed no sleep tonight.

She awoke the next morning as a vivid stripe of morning light fell across her face; startled, she sat up suddenly and called for Noel, as the spot next to her was empty and cold. A soft whicker answered and she burst into laughter as Ishmael the horse looked over from the edge of the rug and pricked his ears at her voice. Had Noel been able to get the creature in their bed, she was sure he would have; she appreciated the humor in the gesture no small amount & vowed revenge. Vivid blots of color also began to assault her sight on the bed and she looked down and about her; Lightning now gaped in a startled fashion as the bed seemed to be in bloom; a wealth of desert blooms was spread across the blanket, a silent, but adoring, princely gift from a silent lover.

Stunned, almost trembling, she simply sat there a moment looking at the delicate blossoms, magenta, coral, lemon, violet blue, then slowly put a hand over her mouth when it sank in. The trouble he must have gone to find them at dawn was immense. Her mind flashed back to a single bloom in a bowl of water on the window at the garrison, and with a guilty pang, she wondered: W _hat in the name of Etro and all the gods is happening to me? He's turned my well-ordered world into a strange mess, I'm Etro-knows-how-far from my command post, I haven't talked to my sister in days and here I am playing at romance with a desert bred boy who is as wild as wild gets. I miss my gunsaber, I miss hot baths, and I miss having my life in my command and my control._

Noel's face in the sunset, the strength of his arms, the intensity of the feeling that happened between them in the night now made her tremble for real now; she remembered tears trickling down her face and wetting a neck and shoulder just as he had done the night before last; then he had been the one to hold, to wordlessly comfort, to soothe, until the shaking, trembling, all-consuming emotional overload became bearable, faceable.

She broke into a sweat at recalling how those callused hands claimed her, and had forever spoiled her for anyone else's touch. She would never be able to let a hand touch her without his lesson of a pleasure so piercing it was pain; she had experienced an achingly intimate act, light years beyond the first time when she trusted him with her body. He had taken them both on a wild journey through an undiscovered country to the top of the heavens and not only thrown her off into space, but had jumped right along with her, plummeting like a comet breaking apart and burning until there was no more Lightning, no more Noel, just two elements combining into something new; even when they parted later in slumber, something of each remained within the other, and they were never the same again.

A half turn of the clock saw Lightning cantering with a janissary to the green valley where her lover was; she was exhilarated, brilliant as a bride, eagerly anticipating the sight of Noel, her fearless nomad taming her gift, a mare to match the spirited stallion surging between her legs; she never felt so hopeful, so delighted with life, so…happy.

But then, such is the blindness of love.

She remembered that first glimpse that dazzling bright morning, the way her heart caught in her throat at the lean figure handling the powerful bolts and wily bucks of the mare, the unconscious pride in the way he moved , sure of himself and immersed his element; it wasn't until after she let the sight of him fill her soul to overflow with too much tenderness, whispering _Etro, I could love this man_  that her perfect illusion shattered before her eyes.

He calmed the mare and brought her to a small knot of people on the sand; she recognized the striped djellaba as the father of the cheeky teen who was thrown; Noel cleverly managed to make the mare bow, then kneel to the amusement of the group, then a lithe feminine form detached itself, bowing as if he were the sheik himself and he held out a hand for her mount and they galloped off with her firmly against his back. She eventually left him with a light caress and ran to get water for the horse, then tea for Noel, clearly fussing over him like he was the last man alive.

Lightning recalled her lazily sarcastic quip when he'd first made his admiration of her known in no uncertain terms and whatever feeling had buoyed her up in the past 3 days burned to ash watching the casually intimate scene played out before her. The slim female with a wealth of blue-black hair cascading under a spangled headscarf was hanging on Noel's least gesture, even kneeling and holding her hands laced together for him to use as a mounting block; he briefly reached down and touched her head and the scene looked like it was familiar intimacy. Lightning sat still as a statue on the stallion for a few minutes longer as she made herself watch, forlornly hoping what she saw was a mistake, a jealous fancy, but no. It was Noel. He never looked up to the ridge of the little valley, although the woman sighted the fine horse and hooded rider. It wasn't until the spirited creature with a matching blue-black mane suddenly wheeled and galloped off disappearing like a djinni that a small smile crossed her perfect rose lips.

Lightning rode hard and never looked back; it wasn't until one of Daniel's personal janissaries whistled at her that she paid any attention to anyone, she was that lost in thought. Daniel grinned at her, waving her over; she stayed by him and his entourage for the rest of the day, staying grimly silent, so she would not foolishly give her emotional trauma away; after all, she was a soldier, a major of a garrison, and was Etro's champion; it would not do to show any sign of weakness, especially over something as foolish as a love affair nipped in the bud. She felt quite stupid, and more ill-used than one of Johel's victims; at least he was upfront and honest about what kind of man he was. Belatedly, she recalled nomads took more than one wife; she wondered if Noel was courting both of them at once; she figured he was keeping them separated so there would be no spats. She felt dreadful as she realized she'd completely been so besotted with him she'd not even remembered to ask if she was entering a harem or not. She had foolishly thought it was a one on one relationship; the thought of having to share him with anyone else was provoking to say the least – if there was one thing she knew about herself it was that Lightning did not share lovers; call it selfish, but she always felt it better to give a lover her entire focused attention, instead of spreading her love too thin or having to deal with a tangle of half truths and manipulations to keep the reins of multiple relationships separate. Simply put, if she was going to be with someone, no one else competed, ever. Now here she was, in a hidden threesome, which was totally unacceptable.

She did her best to stay on the far side of the entourage, hoping there was enough dust and anonymous djellabas to hide her, but after Noel got to Daniel, she was pointed out with a flash of white teeth; he rode slowly forward, putting the mare through its best paces, to show off her beauty and cleverness; she was now groomed until she shone, and her mane had been braided with silver ornaments; he made her bow and kneel, which charmed anyone who had cared to observe the presentation of his gift; never in her life had Lightning felt so desiring of something, yet so sick and pained in her heart over it. Noel slid off the horse and walked up to her on Ishmael, his whole being radiating manly pride and happiness at seeing his lover before him, and ready to give her something that would impress the hell out her to the point of falling into his arms before everyone. He could just hear her tender admission of love later under the stars and it gave him the courage to give her a tender look in public as he spoke.

"I just had to name her Inanna for Ishmael's sake, but you can call her Badri, after the Moon; she answers to either. Come, meet her." He held up a hand for her to dismount from Ishmael. She steeled her herself to be led in the farce of the moment, wondering just when she going to be informed she was being taken back to the city, or presented with his other choice of bind-mate. But no, he presented her with the reins and stood close to watch her reaction; so Lightning did not tell any lie at the overwhelming awe for receiving such a fine gift – she let her eyes fill with unshed tears at the absolute fineness and the work he put into taming the creature just for her, but in her heart it somehow rang like a death knell; Inanna - Badri was quite loving and eager for her hand; it was all Lightning could do to whisper: "Thank you, Nomad; ya'asallam'ah Etro, my gratitude has no end; I will cherish the memory of this day for the rest of my life." Her hand rose and it shook at the gesture of respect she gave him.

She felt she was looking her last upon the beautiful creature named Noel Kreiss, a man she had learned to trust as she caught his level, intense ultramarine gaze; she took in the lean form she had joined with, handsome bronzed face and the waving brown silk of his hair until a now-familiar lithe feminine form appeared and stepped in between them, blocking Lightning from the portrait of a nomad panther she was engraving on her heart. And so did the life-debt servant Harissa enter the tent of Noel Kreiss.

Harissa had overridden Erienne's promise of his daughter Etienne to repay the life-debt as a servant to Noel and insisted to Erienne and the other elders of the tent that she was the better choice, what would a mere 13 year old know about teaching a city woman, a warrior caste, anything about the practicality of living in a nomad household, much less a teacher of all things nomad? True to her capricious nature, she refused to let the matter drop until she'd gotten her way; for once, Erienne's tent was sick of Harissa's constant yowling and simply let her go, figuring she'd come back humbled, crawling and whining once the female warrior, who looked to be a janissary, had lessoned her; they had no doubt the rose-haired one would have less tolerance for Harissa's camel dung and send her packing or at least, beat some sense into Harissa's dense, snotty, vicious head.

When they had gained the entrance to the tent, Noel caught Lightning's arm and looked at her; he only saw the lack of light in eyes that had been on fire for him last night and wondered what had happened to change his rose haired object of adoration so in a day. Startled, he saw a lost, almost pleading look on her face, not unlike a 13 year old who once begged a doctor to not let her darling deda, her father, die with strangers in a surgery, as they shut the doors in her face. Then it was gone, replaced by a stern mask; she gave him a soldier's stare before quietly stating she would see to the horses and stay with them until they were calm, not to worry. She would treat such a generous gift with the greatest of care. The mask slipped little and a genuine warmth shone on her face as his brow softened and a similar warmth suffused his features as he shyly smiled in the fading sunset night; then his face disappeared like a dream as night fell and the sweetly ringing tones of Harissa's voice called his name within the tent. Lightning softly called his name, then quietly hung her proud head and turned way after hearing the silver bells of Harissa's laughter chime in the depths of the tent.

_Farewell beloved, it was not mine to hold you in my arms for any length of days…_

Lightning's brain recalled the sweet sad song of a harpist playing at the common fire pit, then, a blast of cold breeze woke her up, jerking the old woolen burnoose over her hands to keep them warm; she had been dreaming again, more of a nightmare; it recurred with amazing regularity, as she was reminded of its cause almost daily, like a cut being broken open to bleed again and again.

She had been reliving the fight between Noel and herself a full six weeks and 3 days ago; she had borne the barrage of insults disguised as 'observations', 'lessons', and 'efforts' for the sake of peace, but it was short lived, only 15 days were tolerated before her pride, her temper, broke through and gave Harissa a taste of her own medicine, and even more pissed off at Noel, flatly refused his command in front of the other nomads.

It had started with Harissa hungrily eyeing Noel's double sword and inlaid scabbard; it was richly decorated, and her greedy hands wanted to hold an object worth more than the entire contents of her family's tent; Lightning dove to keep her hands from being cut by the razor sharp alloy and was rewarded with outright bitchery; Harissa ran to Noel crying later, and Lightning was taken to task for not behaving nicely, with Noel carefully tending Harissa's bruises. Lightning flatly refused to apologize to Harissa later when he walked his servant to the public firepit with him, where Lightning was spending her evenings to avoid the jet haired jade and trying not to get sick at Noel's constant harping on her act of demure nomad girl. It wasn't so much the refusal to apologize, it was the manner in which she said it to him in front of everyone: Lightning remembered she was a soldier of rank, and expected to be obeyed; she had been shown favor by a goddess, she had survived being branded as a L'Cie and damn well had saved a few friends a few times over. Her refusal was in the manner of a queen and it rankled in a young man's mind from a society where men were the decision makers, the protectors, the predominant of the species. There was also something in his manner of a lordly young boy who had seldom heard the word no, even from his stern noble of a father. The other nomads took her disagreement with her young lord lightly, as most knew Harissa Ibn Erienne's two faced nature by reputation. It was a pity Noel did not heed Lightning's dangerous glance, for he had all of nature to teach him the female is the more deadly; the light in her eyes was a challenge most any man in the tribe have cowed to and quietly turned from. One never runs from immortals, or those that have been touched by them. But oh no, not Noel Kreiss, last man born.

A glowering Noel had stepped forward until his face was inches from hers; she steadily held his gaze, forcing herself not to flinch from his sparking anger; never show weakness she had told herself, or he'd tear into me. The next words she recalled like a brand on her memory:

"You have insulted me with your refusal – you have little awareness of how precarious your situation is here, Claire. You're no longer Major of the garrison out here, you're just a captive who is going through binding." He began to walk around her stealthily like the panther he'd been likened to on more adoring nights past. "You might want to rethink your answer, since I am your captor and I have complete control over you here."

"Control?" She almost snorted; "Oh, is that what you call forcing your wants on others? How very small you look tonight, oh kupo. "

His arm lashed out with the speed of a scorpion's sting and pinioned her wrist, then twisted with a thumb on a nerve; she dropped to her knees whitening with pain. He hissed with a hot rage as he gently took her slim jaw in his large calloused hand and turned it ever so delicately to the nomads watching them; "Do you think they care? They might be eager jackals waiting for taste of your skin after I've finished with you; sometimes a man is excited to have a woman with another man's marks upon her...in her…"

She managed to gasp: "From the way your servant Harissa has been licking your arse, I'd assumed you were finished, oh, kupo!"

"I will be finished with you when it pleases me, Valkyrie. And not a minute before. Or century, in your case."

"Oh. Joy. Pray tell, which of us do you really want to bind to, Noel Kreiss? Or are you wishing to be a stablemaster like Commandant Johel?" She remembered the move to break his hold finally, dropped and flipped free of the punishing pinion, then lightly threw him over to land at Harissa's feet. "Now. Go to her. Go to all the women here who will have you, what is one less? Have all you wish. Just do not look to me." Her voice took on an equally cold hissing rage: "And when they cease to please, go the rock and ask it for love."

She turned away from the fire and walked past the pair, but not before snidely shooting at them; "There are two things I have discovered I don't like about the two of you: Your face."

Noel's answer was a rolling kick to her ankles and his knife at her throat with the soft command: "You step over the line by a mile when an inch will do, woman. Get back to the tent and await while I deliberate on if you should live or not by moonrise, Valkrie. Don't worry, I'll make sure you get a good gunsaber in your hand for a fair fight."

Lightning was a force of nature and was so sheerly stubborn she'd forgotten what is was to yield to a force greater than her own; she'd yielded to Etro so long ago, but then, it was a goddess, not a human that she yielded to. Noel had just as much of the same stubbornness, but it was dominated by a determination that delved into outright arrogance at times. He firmly refused to bow to her wishes, because she had no power over him whatsoever. She had not felt fear for the longest time, and now she was filling with that cold emotion as she realized just how precarious her position had been all along.

She now shook herself and tried to stamp warmth back into her chilled feet. Two months had slipped away since Noel's mad flight into the deep desert with her; she sadly looked back at the days of vivid happiness mixed with weeks of painfully silent suffering; it made her sick to her stomach to think of what had happened at the fire pit. For the first time in years she felt fearful; not only at being chained to an eternal life where she was despised, but unloved…alone. She realized she had longed for love, and had somehow let that little scorpion Noel Kreiss under her skin; his love was like a subtle poison now running in her bloodstream, and would be a hard habit to break. He had become integral to her happiness; life eternal would seem so empty and insipidly colorless without his presence.  _Hate me!_  he once passionately told her;  _love and hate are the only games we play in eternity;_   _but Noel, you never said anything about total indifference; I can't live with that…no one can. Maybe I should just get on your horse and just become a nomad without a tribe; it'd be so easy. And I'm so cold, I wish I were the one sleeping in your arms, warm and protected tonight._  She got up from the embers of the fire in front of the tent and walked; it helped keep her warmer, but she'd pay tomorrow with inattentiveness, and that damned woman would find another reason to ridicule her in front of everyone again. She was so cold…she gambled and went to the area where the mounts were kept, and found Noel's pair of horses; they softly whickered and blew their warm animal grassy breath over her and let her sink down between them, grateful for any last bit of warmth she could get. She was on to her way to falling asleep, but her heart refused to let her drop off until it had its say, and it cried for Noel, a passionate longing for his love rising to a scream of despair of knowing that it would be like this forever. Harissa made her choke with wild jealousy; it was the perpetual remembrance, the burning shame that he had chosen  _another_  that was her demon.

She could have borne it, burnt her heart on Etro's altar or simply cut it out and go on, had the other been worthy of him, a better woman than herself; or at least kind-hearted. But no, Harissa was cruel, petty, spiteful, and million other adjectives far less savory; and that was the deep root cause of her grief and malaise: Noel chose the lesser of the two of them, and Lightning despised him for it. Bitterly, she reminded herself that expecting such a strong and virile man to stay uninterested in his own kind was foolish. The knowledge that the touch she longed for was not solely hers, that… _another_ …was enjoying it now was an open wound that would not heal. No one told her it was for naught, or that she was cutting herself to bits every night over something not within her control, that the heart does goes on, or to just accept or draw your line in the sand, then leave if it were crossed. But she had no kind friend, no sister to tell her so.

The truth of the matter was Harissa had been enough of a bitch to lie and implied intimacy when in fact there was none. Noel had been attracted to her pretty act of a charming, traditionally raised nomad girl, but that is what it was: an act. Her brother and wives were quite put out with her by the time Noel had arrived and hotly debated in whispers what to do with the arrogant, demanding young woman who felt she was entitled to the wealth of the tent without having to work for it. A caravan trip was suggested more than once, with the sarcastic quips of 'one way' and 'a long trek off a short mesa' thrown in after a particularly frustrating day.

Her presence in Noel' s tent gave them relief, but it had made Lightning's life a living hell with the constant small harrying insults and commands in the guise of lessons by a mind that was warped by the desire for a wealthy tent and respect without having to work for it. Lightning had completely snapped when she had seen Harissa deliberately raising a lock of Noel's brunette silk and sniffing it appreciatively with a triumphant smile as Noel's head laid in her lap, having fallen asleep exhausted from helping tame a new pair of horses with the men. He had been thrown twice that day and his arms had ached with the effort of holding the reins firm, so Harissa's offer to oil his arms was actually welcome when compared to Lightning's silence, and her excuse that his horses needed tending. Lightning simply shook her head, eyes dangerous; Harissa smirked and raised the deep brown silk to her lips and kissed it in a taunt; then Harissa was somehow face down on the rug, her blue-black hair unkindly used as a handle to pull her to the tent flap; Lightning planned to take it outside, but Harissa raised her voice in a piercing screech that woke Noel up. He growled at the two women, then pissed, drew his knife, which Lightning snatched; she threatened Harissa with it, furiously growling: "If you even touch a hair on his head without permission, I'll see to it you don't touch anything that isn't yours ever again, girl!"

"Oh kupo?  _Whose_ permission do I need?" Was Harissa's sweetly venomous comment; Lightning mastered her jealous rage with an iron will, because she realized she'd been deliberately baited. Slowly she replied: "You know very well what I mean."

Noel frowned, only seeing the latter part of the planned scene and was less than impressed with Lightning: "Harissa had my permission. At least she understands when a man needs his aches and pains soothed. My horse receives better treatment at your hands than I! Take it as a lesson. Harissa, can you please continue?" He politely concluded, ignoring Lightning's flinch and stunned expression.

"Oh, as you wish, kupo." Lightning ever so respectfully breathed, as a stone had settled on her chest, crushing her ability to speak normally; any heavier, even a feather's weight, and it would choke her throat and the secret hot tears shed daily would run from her eyes, right in front of them both. She vowed to just end it properly with Noel the next day after exiting the tent, but even that small avenue of fair play was blocked. She waited until they fell asleep inside shivering in the intense cold of the night winds before creeping back in and lying down by the tent flap until dawn. She quietly covered up her Noel, sadly looking at his peaceful face and suddenly wishing it didn't have to end with watching him fall for a bitch like Harissa. She wanted to be wrapped in those strong arms and hear words of love, words of praise and pride in his voice.

She quietly stole from the tent before they awoke; Harissa found her at the wadi later, and haughtily informed her that since she had rejected her lord's shelter over her head, she was not welcome in the tent without his permission and that any requests she might have were to go through his humble servant, now before her. Within three days, three days of carefully ducking in other tents, filching food, and hunting unoccupied corners of the encampment at night, a distant Noel quietly called her in and told her if she was no longer wishing to be a guest in his tent, please ensure that he received word from her new host tent, as he was responsible for her until she was formally taken in under another roof, and wished her well, and even more quietly added he left any further decisions in her hands, she hoped she understood his stance on things, then hid his face beneath an indifferent mask, now sharpening the gladius with a whetstone while Harissa knelt nearby, the perfect innocent picture of charming, pretty, humble nomad servant.

_Oh, how that memory burns; too bad it isn't enough to warm my hands tonight. Keep moving, stay awake. There has to be a way to stay warmer. Maybe the horse boy will have a windbreak up._ She pulled the old woolen burnoose of Noel's she had snatched from his wardrobe more closely to her and rubbed her hands to keep them warm in the freezing winds that had blown up; at least the horses partially blocked them; a storm was blowing through and they both knew it was going to be a rough night. She decided she'd really had enough; when tomorrow's dawn broke she'd just pack up, tell the Sheik or Daniel what had happened, beg a horse and water, then just leave. She could make it back to the garrison now, with a mount.  _Just get me through the night, Etro._

The wind picked up until it became a howling creature, slinging sand at the encampment; the outer edge bore the brunt of it, as the shield wall offered some natural protection; the horses and mounts became excited, then frightened, bellowing and stamping, they chafed at their restraints until an especially nervous roan broke the line, scattering the creatures as they panicked and sought shelter; the smarter horses ran to their master's tents and the shield wall, but some ran out to the desert, where the storm was far worse. Lightning lost her shelter of the horses and desperately tried to make it back to the camp; however, she was distracted by Dark Star, the great silver stallion that belonged to Daniel, the sheik's son – the poor frightened creature had a length of rope still tied to his halter which whipped around him like a snake, frightening the creature further; she grabbed the rope and called to the stallion, then swung on to turn the animal to Daniel's tent; but a great crack of lightning made the mount bolt, and with no bit, it ran wild until it collapsed. Lightning jumped as Dark Star stumbled and rolled back to the horse; she pitied the creature and simply threw her burnoose over its head, tied it down, crawled underneath and hung on to the halter for dear life as the fierce storm raged around them; the last thing she remembered was the slowing of Dark Star's panicked snorts and her voice murmuring : "There, there now, it'll pass, the storm will pass, and tomorrow will be blue as my beloved's eyes…"

As soon as the winds abated, Daveed and his guard went about to see how everyone fared; he was tireless in accounting for everyone, and soon the losses of his people were assessed: two goat boys were missing, a guard on night patrol had been hit with a broken tent pole, and the horse boy had a broken wrist from a running horse colliding into him. Noel sidled up to Lightning's host family, as he did not see the familiar pink head, then asked Adja dryly: "Did city girl like her first dirt bath or is she still hiding like a mouse?"

Adja simply stared back at him, puzzled. Noel frowned and repeated himself, then puzzled said:"Adja, wasn't Lightning in your tent last night? Isn't she part of your family now? " She shook her head and looked rather worried: "Noel, what makes you think she is part of our family? She is a welcome friend, but her place is in your tent. She said she was going back to check on the horses before she was going back to your tent; I understand she helps with guard duties at night now? She always visits, but never stays with us."

Noel had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he realized she was with neither Adja or he last night, and quickly strode off to Daveed. They wasted no time in asking around, and soon it was clear she hadn't been in anyone's tent for the night, or even near a tent for quite some time. She always visited, but she slept in no one's tent.  _Where the hell could she be at night? Oh Etro, please don't let me find her with another man!_ Two hours later the cry changed to  _Just please let me find her & I'll never let her out of my sight again, Etro! I'd give anything to know she is alive! How could I be so selfish to let her go so easily?_

The search widened for the goat boys, Lightning, and the missing horses, which numbered 15, then lessened to 6 after another hour on the sands. Daniel kept riding due south slowly, then saw a dusty bit of white and galloped to it, praising Etro; he furiously brushed off sand from the burnoose and found Dark Star and Lightning sleeping together. The horse whickered and struggled to his master's hands, its spirit far from broken at the exhausting events of the evening, but the creature was too weak to get up at first. Daniel started to draw his dagger, but Lightning glared at him and shook her head weakly. Daniel relented, sheathing the dagger; if his prized stallion was so dear to her, then it was a sign from Etro.

Others came with water and ropes, and after a deep drink and some coaxing, the horse stood. Lightning was carefully carried to Daniel's horse and he carried her back to Daveed's tent himself. Along the way he brusquely argued with Lightning for being out at night until it stung; at that point she snapped with her old acerbic manner and admitted she'd been hiding anywhere she could during the night. Daniel's face changed as he learned the truth of what had happened, and exactly why Noel's pet jewel was not a guest of any tent in the encampment. He was aghast that the woman in his saddle was none other than THE Major Lightning Farron, a very worthy warrior he'd heard countless tales of during his city visits; he was deeply ashamed at the breach in long standing customs, the lack of hospitality shown to Major Farron, Valkyrie and beloved of Etro.

He was becoming angrier at Noel with every hoofbeat on the sand; the man was treating his best sword like a shield, she was a warrior of the highest calling, and here she was, expected to be a mere servant of the tent? Her caste deserved a tent of servants to serve her and he began to think Noel had eaten peyote cactus for kidnapping her; didn't Noel realize that this rose haired darling of the goddess would have fallen in his arms had he just courted her like their own elite warrior caste, the janissaries? Did the man not have the breeding of janissary caste himself? He'd lesson the whelp himself when he found him!

Daniel had a scowl like thunder when he arrived and immediately backhanded Noel in the mouth; while Noel was spitting blood Daniel calmly said: "I see why she called you a little scorpion: You bring a high caste out here, a basting VALKYRIE of Etro herself, then sting her in the heart to death halfway across the desert after setting a mere serving wench you've been basting on the side above her? What idiocy made you decide to make Harissa Ibn Erienne to be your mouth in all decisions of your tent, oh kupo? How dare you break the first law of hospitality here! What insane reason did you have to kick her from your tent to die roofless? Wait until my Sheik hears of it."

Noel hotly countered: "What lie is this? Why would I ever break the first law of hospitality, especially as a guest, elder brother? Why? I may be a scorpion, but damn, does a scorpion sting itself? I most certainly did NOT tell her to leave my tent, or tell her she was unwelcome! I brought her here to..to..bind with ME, for Etro's sake! I wanted HER! She left ME! In fact Harissa told me – " He stopped suddenly and his eyes flew to Daniel's dark flashing obsidian irids and held them as they both realized that the middle of the story was missing, and the common tongue was Harissa!

"Eh! It looks like we both have been told different truths here, little brother!" Daniel reached forward, bringing Noel's face close to his own, he softly asked: "Why did you not tell me your lady was Major Lightning Farron, little brother? You've been going about this all wrong…do you even know how to court one of your own caste, janissary? Is the future so devoid of women that you know them not?" He stared into Noel's eyes deeply for nearly a minute, then satisfied with what he saw in its expression, he suddenly grinned and held the summery bronzed cheek in affection for a moment. "Go see her. On your knees if you must. She stayed, despite the insult. A good sign, that." As he turned away, he began to shout: "Now, where is that wench of a servant? Harissa? HARISSA!? "

He trotted off to hunt the haughty servant, leaving Noel by himself on the sand in front of Daveed's tent. He saw pink hair and suddenly longed for her, so he said himself to hell with it, and opened the curtain to go to her. He simply took one look and the strained serious look on his face spoke volumes to Marika & Rhea, who tended the exhausted woman. Marika also patted his cheek and whispered: "No worries, Noel. She is unharmed, just chilled, exhausted, and needs water. Let her regain her strength here, and I will ensure she is sent back with you after the evening dinner. You will come, yes?"

Noel nodded and then he was left alone with his girl, propped up with a handful of pillows and eyeing him warily as a lynx again. He squatted to her eye level and sighed: "Lady, had I any idea that you were without a roof over your head, I'd have kicked that little blue-haired bitch to the next oasis. Why didn't you just tell me? Do you still trust me so little? Are you so frightened of not being in control, even for a minute here? Do you think you have to handle everything yourself? I blame myself for your misfortune, but had you trusted me with the truth of why you left the tent, I would have done all in my power to right whatever wrong that had happened to you. "

She bit her lip and stroked the rug inches from his hand as she absorbed his quiet tone, then in the same vein replied: "Kreiss, How could I tell you anything, when you forbade me to speak to you, unless you spoke to me first? Then you assigned Harissa as your mouth for all…communication? "

"What? Does that even sound like me? Have I not been direct with you? Have I not told you I wanted to be bound with you? Does being bound to me imply slavery? " He swallowed, realizing just how far Harissa had duped him, then continued softly, commanding and confident as the Sheik himself: "I would never tell any servant to give such any order; it would be from my own mouth, and no other's. What possible reason would I have to send you from me, when I wished to you be closer to me?"

She was looking at him now, disinterest falling away as a similar truth hit her. He ruthlessly continued:" I thought you…I saw...I had been informed you left of your own accord and that I disgusted you. I thought I left the decision to bind with me in your hands…heart…so when you did not come back in the tent, I thought you…you didn't want me." Noel manfully finished his truths of events, but couldn't help the forlorn sound of a rejected lover in the last four words.

Lightning softened visibly at the delivered statements and her hand crept forward, almost touching his on the rug; she could feel the warmth as she admitted her own truths: "I saw you giving Harissa …your personal attention; I..I was there that morning when you were taming Inanna, and I saw…I came to the conclusion I came…too early."

"I never saw you – you must be getting clever, you little lynx. You had to see me taming a horse and taking a girl on a ride, and at her request. Did I make love to her on the sands, in front of her family? Do you think I'd drink vinegar after tasting the sweetest water? I nearly drowned in a beautiful oasis the night before, do you think I would forget such a heaven so easily? It's no defense, but I had no wish to offend Erienne; she must have bullied him into letting her take Etienne's place."

"There were more…incidents: I thought… she never outright said it, but it seemed, it appeared …that…you went to…to her! You saw situations she created, Noel. I had little patience to deal with it, so I lost my temper when she tried to lift your sword without watching where to put her hands; she could have lost her fingertips! Then she taunted me one night when you fell asleep in her lap; I was going to leave, then my pride interfered. She even tried to take your bracelet away from me, Noel." She turned her head so he wouldn't see the water welling in her eyes as she kept speaking until it was laid out in the open: "I like the bracelet; I never said I was disgusted with you, or what you were doing to me. I thought I was beginning to understand you…and I liked it. I wanted things to happen between us. I began to trust you with…me. But…how could I stay, after knowing you took another lover? I feel I have made a terrible mistake in understanding nomad culture. I thought binding meant something more…intimate, closer, like one to one. I didn't realize there would be…others…that you'd hold in high..higher…esteem than myself. You see, in my time, my world…It's my…custom. One to one."

Noel looked at her hand a fraction on an inch away from her, and it was all he could do to keep cool; he wanted to turn back into a boy and pick up her hand, and promise her from the bottom of his complicated jealous heart, he'd be her one and only lover until they died; but he was a man now, and he needed absolute proof that what heard was truth; Harissa's lies rankled deeply, but then so did Lightning's earlier stubbornness and resistance to his will.  _We are so close yet so far away…Etro, she goes to my head like rakesh! She spoke like a man, straight to the heart of the matter, no tears, and I adore her for it instead of being angry. I need to stay sober, think straight…I don't know if it's a ploy to gain freedom and run to the hills, or a real admission of intimacy – Time! Give me time, Claire, prove it to me, don't run away! Stay, for Etro's sake, STAY!_ He took a deep breath, then being honorable, he made the admission: "Look, attend to me on this one thing: Nomads only bind once in a lifetime. I've only heard of a three way binding once but there were twin brothers involved." He unbent, giving her a rueful smile: "I guess you're lucky I am a single child, eh?"

She smiled a little herself and unbent towards him also, childishly taking his hand and placing it on her cheek before shutting her eyes in exhaustion. He almost smiled. Almost. His own heart cracked at his own foolishness; maybe Daniel was right. He didn't know a damned thing about women. Maybe he should ask Daniel how to win her. More than ever, he just wanted her back in his arms; he had been curiously lonely without her the past weeks, despite Harissa's best efforts to command his attention. He lightly caressed her face, and decided he'd set a few things to rights before he welcomed her into his tent tonight.

Then with a cool glaze over his eyes, he left Daveed's tent and walked with an unhurried pace back to his tent and waited for a certain female of the species to be tempted by his now false display of easy prey. He couldn't wait.  _I'm all appetite tonight, Harissa._

When her shadow fell across the tent flap, he busied himself with sharpening his hunting knife, and acted unconcerned as she flew in, chattering to cover up nervousness at being absent so long; she'd spent a good 4 hours avoiding Daniel, and now successful, she relaxed. But not for long. He rather playfully asked how her family had fared in the storm, and casually mentioned the casualties, not leaving Lightning's name out; he paused rather meaningfully with the whetstone and twirled the knife in his fingers as he calmly stated he would have no more bitchery or disagreements in the tent when he brought back one Major Farron; she was to be treated as a janissary and if she did not know how, then he suggested she learn quickly or send another from Etienne's tent to replace her; after all, wasn't serving a life-debt pretty much the same no matter where one went? He calmly insisted that she accompany him to dinner at Daveed's tent, with the intent of simply returning the gift of a servant with gratitude, state the debt was paid in his eyes, picking up his bind mate, and going for a ride. A long ride, just the two of them. Time. He just needed some time. They didn't have to do anything, he just wanted her there by him.  _You love me? Prove it. Stay. Don't run._

The presence of Lightning at the table of Daveed was a delight to his eye, and with pleasure he noted how his servant Harissa had begun to squirm, then become self-pityingly jealous, plucking at her spangled headscarf and waist chains. Marika merrily whispered to Lightning: "She never could stand something handsomer than herself! – Look at the way he fills his eyes with you – no, don't look directly – look down at your plate and away, then just let your eyes catch his face, just like hunting a gazelle – pretend to ignore your prey, girl." Lightning did as Marika said, and yes! There it was – he was looking at her with that almost impudent admiring look that had startled her the first time. Marika had seen to it that her lovely guest was attired to exhilarate, not fade in the background; the gauzes and silks were nomad black, but the brocade of the pants was shot with silver, the kurta was long and split at the sides, but also beautifully embroidered with silver and sparkled with tiny brilliants; a slim waist was enhanced with a turquoise sash, which also subtly highlighted the unusual color of her eyes. She threw a speaking look at Marika of pure gratitude, then frowned as Harissa's voice cut across the gentle din of a dinner for 18.: "Who said you were worthy to look at my lord, much less sit at the same table?"

Lightning was fed up with her manner, and politely returned with: "I am a guest of Sheik Daveed & first wife Marika, not Noel Kreiss, Harissa. Exactly whose permission do I need today? It seems there are so many lords here, I don't know where to start? Please be kind enough to guide all through the custom here?" Her eyes hardened briefly before saying: "Whom is first here? Well? We anxiously await your wisdom, kupo."

"You fail to obey your bind mate, so why even be at the table? You walked away from it, so perhaps you should return to your city and quit playing at being a nomad."

"Who said I walked away? How does choosing another bind mate in front of me without releasing me from his challenge qualify as disobedience? And who says you're qualified? I don't see a chain on your wrist, oh kupo!" Lightning had been coached well by Marika, but failed to judge the vicious desperation behind the pretty mask of Harissa.

She rose, screeched and splashed Lightning's face with her tea and raised her hand to slap her; she found herself spun and pinned, her arm digging into the tender nerves of her shoulder; she squalled like a freshly gelded lamb, and furiously tried to break free. Lightning calmly remarked: "Oh yes. Go ahead, try." " Harissa cursed, flopping like a fish. Lightning's voice cracked like a whip: "I said rise,  **servant**. See? you can't – and now attend to my words: I am telling you now, drop your claim on Noel Kreiss. Let the man make up his own mind first, will you?"

"Etro-damn, I have claim! He slept with me! He let ME into his tent and let be as the mate to him, not HER! SHE has no claim!"

"Slept with you?! Exactly when did the heavens move, Harissa? You've not shared my bedroll, or you're that unremarkable!" Noel's accented tenor sarcastically commented.

By this time, everyone was disturbed and Daveed was angry such a scene was taking place at his dinner table; Marika hid a smile of delight, as things were finally moving and the long-overdue scene of Harissa's comeuppance was finally happening. He beloved lion of the desert rose and bawled: "MUST I have this howling jackal in my ear all dinner long!? I am sick of these foolish squabbles of who has a right to a man or not! By the god, I'll judge this one for you, if you two cannot come to your senses and be STILL!" Lightning stayed silent and rather mockingly raised her hands in a graceful Namaste to her forehead, but Harissa spluttered:"What? How dare- " She was cut off by her Sheik's howl of rage and he stomped off, throwing over his shoulder: "Etro-damn, I have a tent full of flea-bitten she-mongrels tonight! To the seat of wisdom, children! And someone bring me a rakesh!"

Noel was mortified at the two women fighting over him and just laid his head in his hands and moaned. He failed to see the humor in it, as Marika and Rhea did; Daniel grinned at him when he raised his head and said pleasantly: "Welcome to 509 AF, little brother scorpion. By the way, that janissary woman looks damned fine tonight. If you're seriously not interested, can I have a shot at her? I've always wanted a mate I could practice sword with! "Daniel knew full well his friend had been wild, passionately wild, about his rose haired darling until recently, and now that he knew the cause – A nose that was a trifle too long that belonged to none other than Harissa Ibn Etienne!

He was set to have some fun until Noel gave it up and challenged Major Farron. Harissa was nothing; the scene was the typical brawl she'd caused within her brother's tent – anytime someone had a fine young man in their sights, she simply took over and tried to take him for herself, and be damned to any rules or sense of fair play. He couldn't help but tease his handsome little brother; he was sharp little scorpion, but it was now quite obvious he was coltishly ignorant of women in some areas; but then, Daniel finally figured out that Noel grew up in a world where they were far and few in between; he'd noticed Noel's behavior with the men; he demonstrated the good manner of the highest caste; but women, oh Etro; he'd have to sit him down soon with some rakesh and get the real story why he'd gone crazy and brought Lightning Claire Farron out here to tame. He knew her by reputation on his visits to the city to trade, and almost whistled when he'd found out the beauty Noel had unveiled was none other than the garrison's Major. The boy had some sand in his shoes to be able to chase that down. Still grinning, Daniel settled down on the rug by Noel as an elder brother and legal advisor through the Sheik's trial judgment process, and tuned his ears back into Harissa's annoying voice.

 


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes: Well, here is the final chapter of Noel & Lightning's quirky romance in another universe. Do not be surprised if this goes through a re-write, with further character development & more research into nomadic cultures. A very sincere thank you and I hope you have enjoyed taking a trip into the desert of my mind's eye. There are more stories to be told, so if you are willing to read more of my tales, I will upload another soon.
> 
> There is a scene in this chapter that blatantly lifts a line from a wonderful sword fight scene in the film Gladiator; I give full credit to the creator of the film, and simply state no intent of profit or gain is intended; the tale is simply for amusement. As I watched it, I could just see our heroine's face and voice saying that line & it was simply too much fun to pass up. So forgive the theatrical scene built about it. The formal insult exchange was an actual part of pre-battle events in Middle Eastern and North African cultures according to a few historical resources, which was also quite amusing to write; my Muse is credited for the gentle nudge to be more historically accurate.
> 
> On a note of historical accuracy, some inspiration of traditional clothing was due to the exquisite costumes worn in the film Kingdom of Heaven. It was very easy to imagine Lightning in Sibylla's cloak and headscarf.
> 
> Of course, one cannot forget the credit to the wisdom of the Biblical Old Testament for the judging, which now commences...so attend, o beloved...

Sheik Daveed sat in his elegant chair, carved from hard ebony and fitted to his body; hours of negotiations and fahdl demanded attention, and a shifting body in an uncomfortable chair could give excuse for insult or divert attention from the more delicate points of conversation. He waved off the servant who approached with minted tea, but pointed to a cushion, where she eagerly sat; Rhea was a trusted servant, and her wrinkled face held nothing but a flat calmness that hid a razor sharp mind; Daveed was a wise man, and patient leader of his people, but he needed his servant's sharp tongue and wily twists of mind to help with the rule of the more unruly of his flock, and keep peace with other tribes. When Harissa and Lightning were pushed up and kicked into kneeling before him, his eye did not flicker when he dryly stated: "So, the two of you lay claim to our newest warrior? Why do you fight? Cannot you both share the privilege of serving your lord? "

Harissa spat: "SHE will not obey my orders! She refused to do anything to keep the tent in order! All she would do is care for the mounts and the weapons! She slapped my hands away and knocked me to the ground when I touched the lords' sword! "

"Because it would have taken your fingers off, you damned fool. " Lightning softly interjected. "Those blades are alloy, not just steel. As for keeping a tent in order, I am not allowed to sleep in the tent, or enter without Kreiss' permission...or at least that's the story Harissa Ibn Etienne tells me, Sheik. A contradiction, yes?" She sought Daniel's eyes and nodded slightly; he nodded back indicating she had put it well, just like he'd told her to.

Daveed became the lion he was named for and fiercely turned to Noel: "Did you forbid your guest the tent?"

"I never gave such an order." Noel's eyes matched the tone in his voice. "What respect would I gather if I made a servant give an order that I was not able to carry out myself? Harissa Ibn Etienne apparently thinks the custom is so in this tribe. She apparently told my guest to not even step in the tent unless commanded. My exact words to my guest were 'do make use of anything for yourself here, except my swords' – call her to witness, if you like. "

A collective gasp went up from the listeners: it was bad manners, the worst of abuse to let anyone, no matter how low, sleep outside the tent at night. It was age old custom that kept their fellow humans safe and alive, and to hear it broken spoke volumes about Harissa's character.

Harissa, now on the attack, hissed: "I only do what the young lord does not know how to do, did he not order me to teach her all our ways? She has been disobedient in all things; She does not address the lord by his title; she disdains to even touch him, much less lay with him when he desires a woman; she even threw him off her! She will not dress as woman, look at her! It's all men's clothing on her! She is like a shield, not a vase to water the lord to refresh his soul! There is no peace in the tent!...and when I try to smooth the path, be kind to my lord, soothe his hurts and aches, and be the woman she will never be, SHE did not give up her bracelet to me, or even acknowledge my right to claim!"

" I am a warrior, not a domestic, Sheik. I performed the tasks I knew how to do. I refuse to give up his gift to me; I understand it was his way of claiming me, and he brought me out here to complete the ritual of binding me to him. I verify he said the proper host's words to me. But I also was told later by Harissa Ibn Etienne to not even approach my host unless he commanded it first, and that she, his servant would be his mouth. I did not consent to leave the match, Sheik...nor will I at this point in time. Noel Kreiss must answer to me first. If he wishes another, then he must tell me personally and make reparation to my honor!" Lightning stood firm, her sense of command clear.  _Screw him, I deserve to be told in person. And I'm going to get my way._

Daveed had Rhea pour him a silver cup of Rakesh and she whispered briefly as she presented it to him with the utmost respect. Daveed almost smiled and stroked his beard as if deep in thought. Then he spoke his judgment:

"I see. Since both of you lay claim in your own manner, I am forced to judge this. I ask each of you one final time: Do either of you yield your claim to the other? Only one can win. No? Then this is my judgment, children."

He turned to his guard and firmly spoke with steel in his voice: "Bring my great sword. "

The hefty scimitar was brought forward and Daveed rose with it in his hands, his eyes hard as the steel in his voice now: "Since neither yield, then I do as custom decries: The prize is to be split. Hold him."

Four guards tackled Noel and pulled him out, each with a limb; Noel hyperventilated and struggled beneath the raised scimitar and nearly cried out as it swung in an arc to give force to the blow; Daveed was going to split him in half and give half to each woman, an antique law renacted many times over the centuries.

Then a weight dropped on him and a voice almost screamed: "NO! Sheik, hold your hand! I yield! By Etro, I yield if it means his life! Sheik, do you hear me!? SHEIK DAVEED!? I Yield!" Lightning was looking up at the Sheik with her intense aqua eyes, dilated, heart pounding. Daveed slowly brought the great scimitar down and sat down, laying the blade across his chest, the perfect picture of a great sheik who has given his wise judgment. "The matter is settled. Only one has claim. Take the liar to the Field of Woe."

It wasn't until the crowd dispersed that Rhea and Daveed looked at each other again and then silently let their eyes crinkle until both began to laugh.

Lightning was chained to a pole that was a good quarter mile distant from the oasis in an arc of silver sand; it had no plants, no shade, no water. The sheik would seat himself under the fringe of palms at the edge of the oasis and watch his punishment meted out, which was simple: one simply hung in full view of the desert sun until it pleased him or one died. His tribe was welcome to deliver any type of insult or injury to hasten death; stoning, knife cuts, salt or sand rubbed in the lips were all part of the justice system of the nomad; harsh, crude, but effective.

Daveed and Rhea had already seen the hidden truth from the test; only someone who truly had the young lord's best interest at heart would yield his or her own life up to it. They figured Lightning would be tough enough to withstand a few hours chained to a pole; he knew the families would be disinterested in any further tribal punishment, especially since his own son had respectfully requested clemency along with a few choice details; Daveed expressly forbade Harissa from any punishment, stating she was to attend her lord; after all, wasn't that her goal? Daveed knew full well she was itching to cut Lightning's aqua jewels out of her head for her own and thought it'd be foolish of him to even chance that the lovely woman would be truly injured, much less touched by anything other than a gentle hand. He had consulted with his first wife, and she agreed immediately that Lightning should be brought into Daveed's private harem as a guest; she was a bow woman herself, and understood the battle of wills that was being waged between Noel & Lightning; she thought it safer to keep her close, until Kreiss learned to bring her to him with love instead of trying to bring her forcibly to him with domination. It was only then would such a fine warrior woman could be tamed properly to his hand. Apparently some of fine art of courting a warrior woman was lost between her time and Kreiss' time. It didn't seem like the pair were so at odds when the first arrived; she remembered Noel's hand immediately held out to help Lightning rise from the rug and the way they looked at each other while the harpist played tonight.  _Harissa was no favor done to the match_ she snorted to herself;  _had it not been for that little jackal's jealousy, the tribe would have been able to help Noel steer the match to a successful conclusion. They really are perfect for each other; all it usually takes is a little nudge of another man's interest to humble a lover. Oh my! I am going to have fun fanning the flames of this burning heart! He's as crazy as Daveed was back in the day!_

The night air was cooling rapidly and soon the fires were blazing and cold hands ducked into woolen djellabas and hoods were raised to keep the plummeting temperatures from invading warm bodies; the desert was mostly a flat plain beyond the oasis and the winds howled at night until the morning sun illuminated everything with a sparkle of rime on the cactus and dry grasses. The sheik and his entourage set up and were sipping tea before beginning a debate of the 2nd chapter of Etro's script, when the night guard walked up with his report: "Tribe Ibinissa. North edge. Been there since midnight. One warrior. You know who."

Daveed groaned: "What is it this time? Does he think he has claim to my prize dapple grey again?"

"The goat boy thinks he's come to challenge Kreiss. Apparently we have large ears at the oasis and a larger mouth."

"Well. Let him. Do not answer any challenge, Noel. He is but a gadfly of his tribe; they are vicious animals who do not obey Etro, they are no better than animals who should be shot on sight. They rape every woman when raiding, and kill the old, the children for sport. Have no doubt he is a good warrior, but a consummate idiot in the art of politic behavior."

The warrior was statuesque, a dark bronzed demi-god with glossy black hair streaked with violent purple and a finely braided black-purple beard; he was loaded with jewelry, even his scabbard was richly jeweled and inlaid with thin wires of iridium in flowing tribal designs; his mount was a glorious creature, all black with a long tail and mane that cascaded almost to the ground and bore his master on a red leather saddle with a plethora of jingling silver ornaments; however, the sword hilt was simple and well-used, at odds with the display of idle richness. He strode about the edge of the encampment impatiently, waiting for the tribe to notice him before beginning his verbal assault and challenge. The sun was a full half hand above the horizon in early morning before he gave it up and bellowed: "Oh-ho, Tribe Ibrahim, thou must waste away your day with idleness? Come, a warrior is in thy sight!"

The sheik held his cup out for tea, as if he'd just heard a cricket chirp. The sun slanted across the desert, the rime sparkling like diamonds in the early light and throwing long shadows across the Field of Woe, where Lightning blearily raised her head. It had been a damn cold night, she was chilled to the bone as they had stripped her of her clothes before chaining her, so the sun would make short work of her today. She was irritated at the voice, but grasped at it with anger, to galvanize herself into staying alive.

The bellowing voice continued for a good five minutes, most of it an announcement of his glorious self, his deeds, and his tribe's deeds; he worked himself into a good frenzy, stomping about and then got down to business: "…and now you have a new tribesman, a traveler from the end of time, a son of a sheik, with a double sword who they say cleaves the very soul of a man! I say Tribe Ibrahim has played trickery, and conjured him with dark arts to their tents! He must be no swordsman, for I have met and killed all the swordsmen worth fighting in this desert! I have never seen any deed of Noel Kreiss pass the lips of any man alive here! And how is it this bravest of the brave warrior, this shadow hunter, this scorpion of the land has not come forth to challenge anyone from Tribe Ibinissa? Is he deaf? Is he blind? Or is he…afraid?"

A dry sarcastic voice piped up in the silence: "He hasn't because he's never heard of you, oh kupo! Thy legend must be in thine own mind!"

He gnashed his teeth and howled: "Why must I sit and read this silk swaddled babe without a man's beard the story of my deeds, Kupo? By Etro, he should drop his pants and show us his manhood, for methinks I'm before a eunuch!"

The air was sliced with a wicked dagger of retort in the ear: "Brush the fleas from thy lavender whiskers and the clean the camel dung from thine sow's ear, old woman! Then jump up and down, we all want to hear if thou hast the pair of balls you claim, or if those are thy camel's brass bells between thy legs!"

The mount lashed out with its heels and bugled a screech of rage, as the rider had raked its sides with his spurs; he matched it with a line of Etro's Script in a similar harshly bugling tone as he brought the creature under control again, then threw down another insult like a glove: "Dost thou long for the weight of my balls against thy arse, oh wafter? How is it I hear a woman's voice deliver retort, instead of a man's? Is his tongue so dull it cannot cut and can only be used for licking the cleft of his lady? I must be looking at a  _consort_ , not a warrior!"

"Ohhh…Really, Kupo? A consort a full decade & eight years? Isn't he a bit…old for you? I thought your tastes were helpless boys!"

At that, he roared and spurred his mount into a full gallop at the voice, then stopped suddenly, the mount squealing with rage, rearing up like Odin's mount and striking out with its hooves at the lone figure hanging off the pole in chains as a string of profane curses were thrown about.

"A prisoner? A woman? What madness has infected this tribe? Where is the warrior?"

Lightning snorted: "Too busy getting his two-timing arse licked clean by a harem girl named Harissa, so that just leaves me, kupo. They don't soil their hands with the likes of you." She forced a cocky smile at the handsome warrior glowering at her. "So, how about it?" Lightning figured she was already damned to die and decided going out in a blaze of glory was the only way to go; she didn't care that she was not wearing any clothes or armor, or that her precious gunsaber was not hanging off her back; all she could think of was a chance to get out or go down swinging. Besides, the damned gadfly pissed her off – oh, like Kreiss was anything close to eunuch for Etro's sake.

"Why in Etro's name should I fight you? Aren't you condemned to die?"

"What have you got to lose? Even a dead man walking is allowed a last meal, so why not a condemned  _warrior_  a last fight? Do I look like a girl from the harem? Do they have scars like mine? C'mon, it might be your lucky day, kupo!"

He looked, then grinned; it was carrion, but damned fine carrion. She spoke true, she had warrior's scars. A swipe of his naginata, the long single edged axe blade affixed to a length of spear wood, setting sparks off the chains, and cut through the cheap rusty iron like butter. "Rape, rape, rape! That's all you basting janissaries ever think of; just try to put up a fight, will you?"

Lightning stood and flexed her aching shoulder muscles back to life and rolled her neck a few times before she genuinely smiled and said: "Thank you, oh kupo. How shall we play today?" It left him nonplussed for a moment, seeing as she had no weapon, but as he was ready for blood, he shrugged and galloped a little way off, then charged. She wasted no time, wrapping the loose end of the chain around a hand and wrist, then started on the attack with run at the warrior on the mount, skipping up to a boulder and flying into her opponent's chest with a series of punishing blows enhanced by a chained set of knuckles.

The chase went all through the Field of Woe, until it reached the Sheik's rug, where they all watched stunned into a shocked silence at the insanity of it; a half dozen men looked at Noel who shrugged and simply commented: "Etro's Valkyrie!", at which they nodded sagely and looked back again with far more interest; Marika almost smirked at her fellow warrior woman who'd just shown more balls than half her son-in-laws and now feeling lofty, lightly kicked Harissa to serve more tea. The little jackal was sitting there like a city girl, mouth open, moaning  _Holy Shite of Etro_! Under her breath – she had no idea how close she came to getting her face pounded by a real warrior woman until just now. That arm pin last night was a taste of honey compared to the fighting skills being demonstrated right now! She slunk backwards like her namesake and as soon as the sand hit her feet, she ran, deserting her lord Noel. The man had to be chewing peyote to expect a bed with  _that_.

Lightning ducked and spun, still weaponless, throwing rocks, a handful of sand in the face, pulling the mount's tail, an irritating wasp bent on throwing the warrior's rhythm off. She growled at the tribesmen as she danced around the mount's kicking hind legs: "Damn it, give me a weapon! Etro-damn you all, I need a weapon!"

No one moved a muscle under the Sheik's warning eye. Desperate, she grabbed a stirrup and swung up behind the warrior as he thundered by, slashing down with the naginata. She pulled at the long dagger in the saddle sheath, but it would not release; disgusted, she leapt from her perch and landed behind Noel, running forward; surprised, Noel felt his gladius drawn with a snick as a pale golden hand adorned with a simple leather wrapped bracelet hefted the weight like a long lost friend as she ran past him.

Then the fight turned nasty. The Ibinissan pressed his advantage with the mount and naginata, ignoring the etiquette of like weapon to like weapon. Great clouds of dust hid yelps and fierce infighting; a splintering crack was heard and the horse charged out from the dust cloud. Lightning was chasing the horse as it bugled in fright; the warrior disgustedly threw down the broken naginata as he limped from the dust cloud seconds behind. He seldom lost a swordfight, and confidently he strode forward pulling at the sword hilt hung off his back; his bloodlust filled smile faded as it did not come to his hand; his companion was standing still, with an amused look now on her face. He tried harder, panicking, rattling the piece of steel in the sheath, but puzzled, as he could not draw his sword from the scabbard. Her lips formed a soft word they could not hear and she smiled before bearing down on him; then a wind blew a curtain of dust over the scene and left it with a pretty caress in the observer's ears.

She stood there in the settling dust stark staring nude, splashed head to foot with blood; then she slowly walked up to the circle of astounded nomad warriors, wearily dragging Noel's gladius through the sand, and calmly looked over at them after flicking the blood off the finely balanced blade and resheathing it in its scabbard hanging off his back. She slowly blinked at them, her face inscrutable, superior, craftily lynxlike before simply saying: "Frost. Carbon dioxide frost. It makes the blade stick."

She wearily walked back to the fallen warrior, pulled the chilled scabbard off over the headless corpse, gently took the mount's bridle and walked off totally unconcerned as if she were Etro herself through the tents, clothed in silver armor and girt with the weapons and wings of a thousand eidolons. Her light ripple of laughter floating back on the morning breeze was a contradictory gut wrenching taunt, yet somehow a hot swelling excitement for more than one pair of ears. Then she was gone.

"Ah. There goes a new blade, forged in the old metal." The old man quietly, reverently spoke at last. " _That_  I would have above a hundred of my harem, young Kriess. I see why you stole her away from the city now; however, I think it would be a sin to the very god to break her spirit. Tell me…what think you, my beloved son?" the last query stated with a kindly loving old man's tone doting on his favorite child. Noel's heart burst open and he threw himself at the old sheik's knees and burst out weeping; a calm hand laid on his head as he spilled the words before him: "I...I feel as if I am in a game, and the rules keep changing!"

"She—she was my first, my only...ohhh damn it all  _I love her_! I loved her ever since I saw her, father…but this is killing me, what can I do? I hate her for not coming to me, when she held my heart in her hands that day after I gave myself! She even let another man kiss her hand goodnight in front of me like I was nothing!  _Nothing!_  I claimed her, yet she thinks I have a harem equal to yours just waiting at my beck and call! She drives me so insane with desire in the night, I cannot even think of another woman, or take comfort from a man! She acts like she hates me, yet turns around protects my honor like it is my virginity! There is no peace in my heart, I want to die or kill her so no man can have her but I!"

They all nodded, knowing full well what it was like to feel this fire in the blood; it was the years of intense solitude, the sheer loneliness that drove them to introspect, grow deep, and nurture the fierce fiery passion that carried them through the aching burden of life. The rest of them fell back, leaving their leader to impart his wisdom first; they'd all offer their help and love to get him through the ritual and to the point of challenge. It was simple: Noel had found his match, but the match was not a simple nomad to nomad pairing, it was a janissary warrior to a warrior from another realm entirely; this was no smooth path to Etro's Eden. The sheik would solve the riddle of this match. Softly, slowly, the gnarled hands stroked the gleaming chestnut head in his lap and after he imparted his wisdom, he blessed the weary head like a son. The men came back after seeing Noel raised to his feet; they praised his wisdom in confiding in their sheik, the wisest of fathers, praised his choice of woman highly, and now laughing at her audacious move, praised his gladius almost as highly; they bore him off and soothed the jangled nerves and lovelorn heart with the distraction of horse racing, leaving the Sheik and Marika eyeing each other like they were twenty years younger and almost grinning.

Lightning carefully rinsed herself of blood and dust before bringing the black mount water. The stallion snorted a bit, but nosed her after a while, hungry. She was able to pull the sword now, as the frost inside the scabbard had melted, the carbon heavy rime sublimating into gas as the temperature rapidly rose; she cut dates, feeding them carefully to the splendid creature. It trusted her enough to let her lead it to a deserted edge of the oasis and investigate the contents of the saddlebags; she was desperate for anything to cover her nakedness, and the sand was beginning to burn through her feet. The warrior had outfitted himself well, a spare djellaba, sandals two sizes too big, but wearable, a windbreak, the standard tea, sugar & two cups, whetstone, and a crock of oil for the body, scented with the same resin Noel had used on her the first time. Her eyes grew soft at the memory of his silent tenderness and she felt a tear well at the thought of how close they become then how far they'd grown apart in the past weeks at this oasis.  _Did it have to end this way?_

She sat there alone for the rest of the day after rigging up the little windbreak and grooming the horse; no one came to talk to her or even walk by, so she felt like the last person alive on the planet. She recalled Noel's softly accented voice while holding her in her bed at the garrison with a longing ache she couldn't name:  _"I know you are lonely, so I gifted you with myself. I am lonely too…Forever is a long time when you've only a human heart, isn't it…Claire?"_

At dusk she built a fire, and shared the last of the dates with the horse, and made a pot of tea to chase away the coming chill. She brought out the sword, studied it and slowly began to become acquainted with the steel; she missed her gunsaber; Noel's gladius had been exquisite in her hand, perfectly balanced, but a trifle heavy in the hilt for her wrist; but then Noel had wrists of steel and a reach a full five inches longer than hers.  _It's always the little things you miss,_  she sighed to herself before kneeling on the ground and starting the exercises to judge a sword's balance. She let her mind drift as the steel twirled on its point and she guided it back and forth, letting the worn hilt rotate on her arms in a soothing pattern.

She was a bit startled when a little boy was staring at her across the fire; he shyly smiled and held out a bag of grain for the horse; she smiled briefly and nodded towards the horse. He skipped off before she could offer him tea for his trouble and bemused went back to her exercises; the sword was finely made, and she felt she could handle it; now, she was content, or at least that was what she told herself to believe. She lacked nothing. Her belly was full. She had clothing on her back. She had a sword. She needed nothing. Nothing.

It was no surprise that she would have another visitor; she fully expected Harissa to make good on her threat to carve her eyes out, so she was trying to stay awake until the lamps of the tents were mostly out. A Sheik raising a palm to forehead before her fire was another matter entirely. She offered him tea and a cheeky grin was her reward; she almost smiled when she sat back down on the ground after placing the magnificent saddle and pad before the fire for Daveed's comfort. After seating himself cross-legged and taking an appreciative sip of the tea, the sheik spoke:

"So, Major Lightning Claire Farron…this day has not been what I expected, but I am glad of its revelations. Much that had been a mystery to me is now clear – clear as the oasis pool yonder. Blessed be the name of Etro, and I see you have been blessed by her with many things." He paused to take another sip of the tea, flavored with a mélange of warm spices.

"I am the not only the leader of my tribe, I am as a father to them, a shepherd with his flock; it is for me to see to their needs and one has come to me with his need…and yet, there is one has  _not_  come to me with her need. Do you not know to trust me in all things as you are under my wings? Were you never told it was so with me? Ah. I see by the look on your face Harissa has only told you what she wanted you to know. She has been sent packing for a while; I have banished her to my cousin's caravan, which will cross the great divide some 2 full seasons journey south; perhaps she will have a better respect for her sisters when she returns. So I have removed an obstacle from Etro's will."

"I…I served Etro in Valhalla."

"Ah. We all serve in one way or another if we love her. Perhaps I am here tonight to serve her will; I hope you allow a father to speak for a son of his tribe?"

He gently took her hand, moving well within the invisible circle of personal space that every nomad considers intimate, with a direct gaze of a leader: "My son Noel loves. Give unto him your love before he dies from the lack of it. This I ask of you. The two of you are a true match; here is the evidence, daughter."

"First: He was able to match you in battle; you did not allow him to win, did you?"

She shook her head: "No! Most certainly not!"

"Second: He was able to walk through the desert of your heart in one night and give you not only a drink from his cup of love, but an oasis to nurture you, without having known a woman before you. And you, you did the same for him, despite not knowing men, have you not?"

She bit her lip before admitting: "I have not been with man since…fifteen, and it was forced. A soldier. Noel –he…was different. Gentle."

"Third: He has been touched by immortality like you. He knows the burden just as intimately as you."

She shut her eyes as she said very low: "I am very ashamed that I did not trust Etro with all my heart in that."

"Lastly: My first wife has wisely pointed out – Why aren't you gone back to the city if his love was so repulsive, so repugnant to you? "

She was still, then nodded as his dark eyes smiled with a hint of humor. Then he quietly continued:

" Etro herself knows your loneliness – she has lived an eternity herself – her wise being gifts you a companion to ease your loneliness throughout all time and yet, you sent him to hunt for your sister. She sent you, her Valkyrie, a vision of what was to be – did she send one to your sister? You were marked for her favor, since you bore her burden. Can you see where you did not obey the goddess? It is so simple; just accept he is yours, just as much as you are his, by her divine will. It was ordained by her."

Lightning bent her head and continued in the low voice: "I do not deny these truths, father. Foolish Lightning was expecting instructions for a life where there are none. "

Daveed continued very gently now, as his son's happiness was so close to being won now: "My son Noel has been hunting you for his own, but you do not see the signs of his affection, because you are not nomad. His own signals are not what they should be, either. The truth of our customs has become blurred over the centuries; so by the time he heard them, they were changed to benefit the dominant species in his time: The Male. Females were far and few in between in his time, so they have been far more fiercely fought over than here and now. Trust me, Noel Kreiss feels deeply. The panther is never more tender or more fierce than with his own." He caught the flicker of affection at the word panther in her eye and knew he was winning. "At this point, perhaps it is just simply differences in customs that are the barrier; I inform you that we only choose one to bind with; that is the custom then, now and at the end of time. There is no room for another mate in a nomad's life, just as it is in your customs. You will never be placed any higher in his heart. But I ask, if you truly have no love for Noel, simply tell me now, and I will see you returned to your garrison unharmed and I myself will negotiate any reparation for the stain on your honor. I give you my word it will be so. However, I cannot help but think there is much deep tenderness and fierceness in your heart also for my beautiful, brave son….So…tell me… how it is with you, daughter?"

She sighed and quirkily murmured to herself: "Nothing the god of love wouldn't let you into heaven for….and here he sits offering me a key…" She caught the humorous gleam in his eye and gave in:

"Sheik Daveed, you are so right…I think I've been so caught up in fending off his attempts at dominance I stopped looking for why he wanted to be with me. He has upset my well-ordered life like you wouldn't believe; I had thought I could survive like I was, but he forced me to face up to something: I can never be wholly human again; that in itself makes me alien to my own race. Noel is a maze, a puzzle I keep wanting to solve; and the more I get in, the more lost I become from the life I knew…Noel is… He is…I…ohhh damn it all, I love him! But damn it, I am so lost on what to do as a woman! I'm a soldier by profession, a killing machine, just like he is. No one asks a killing machine what it feels, much less asks it for love! And HE did! How do two killing machines make love, Sheik?"

"Very Carefully!" Daveed laughed. "And sometimes, you just have to tear off the armor piece by piece until the two of you are standing here in the light of the god, naked as the day you were born!"

At that she lightened inside and laughed also: "Then I lay down my shield, Sheik! I can't resist your nomad logic anymore!"

"I am delighted to hear this – this concludes my negotiation for my son, and it will be pleasurable to see you as a daughter of my tribe soon. By the God, very pleasurable! That fight delighted me no end! …So…now that you  _are_  for the match, my wife and I will prepare you; I will send my servants to collect you in the morning, Lightning Claire Farron. Have no worries. It will all come out beautifully in the end."

Noel spent a restless night at first, wondering where Lightning had gone to. Was she gone? Did she just get up on that stallion and disappear into the desert without even a parting backwards glance? Did she truly feel she had no place in his tent, much less his heart? By Etro, he was angry she had been denied shelter under his roof; Harissa had disappeared also, which somehow didn't surprise him. He had half hoped with Harissa gone, he'd have a chance at a moment alone with his desert rose. He had saddled Ishmael, having made up his mind to go look for her, but was stopped by Daniel, who insisted she had not left the oasis, and told him his father and mother would handle Lightning's return & her future within the tribe. To tease Noel, he also hinted that all the single young men looking for a mate were all agog over her fight with the Ibinissian, and with mock severity, warned he'd have competition now. Noel's look of irritated jealousy was priceless and Daniel slyly offered to sell him a gunsaber. The retort was a rather high pitched yelp: "Etro! No way! - She's hell's girl if gets a blade in her hand!"

Near dusk, a woman from the Sheik's bevy of servants silently appeared with a bowl of food and a bundle of saddleroll; she inspected the tent, tweaking a drape, poking the fire, and did all the small things a servant should do before holding a palm to her forehead and disappearing into the darkness of the other section to sleep; with a quiet smile she also reassured Noel his Lightning would be well cared for once the Sheik's men had located her; she was from Marika's own side of the tent, and distracted him with the humorous account of the Ibnissian envoy who came to collect it's warrior's remains.

He felt her kindly, calm face was welcome and although pleasantly admiring of him, she kept turning her eyes to the night guard every time he walked by, deliberately pausing to check his sword and shyly smiling at her. He felt relieved, as tonight the last thing his aching heart wanted was to fend off another Harissa from throwing herself onto his saddle roll. Noel later poked at the fire, drawing his hood up against the chill, straining his eyes into the dark horizons, hoping to see a flicker of movement that would tell him she was still in his sight; he almost gave up, but a twinkle at the far side of the oasis drew his eye; it had to be her! Now satisfied that she really didn't leave him, the tense set of his shoulders eased and his being gave a small bound of happiness; he felt he had won, at least for this day. She was here. He brought his bedding roll to the front of the tent flap and watched the faint twinkle until he fell asleep, gently comforted. She was here.

The next day brought a the news of a new guest of the Sheik's harem, which surprised no one after witnessing the most entertaining fight they'd seen for a long time, plus being rid of the gadfly from Tribe Ibinissa was a visible relief. Lightning was allowed to keep the horse as her own, which drew many of the men in admiration of the fine horseflesh; their flashing eyes glistened in envy at the stallion, now properly groomed to satin by the female warrior. Marika had outfitted Lightning most handsomely with cast-offs from the tent's wardrobe, which meant men's simplicity, but the finest of fabrics; it was also a subtle mark of favor to be given something from the Sheik's household. She added a soft sheer kurta to the deep aubergine silk djellaba with its border of Etro's script embroidered in silver thread with a matching keffeyeh wrapped turban style under the draped hood to keep cool air moving and added an intriguing air of mystery to Lightning's finely boned features below; men's loose desert pants in a sooty charcoal brocade tucked into soft boots added the proper warrior's touch to go with the sword now hanging off her back. She had no ornamentation but the wrapped leather bracelet, but Marika felt sure something would appear once a handsome lovesick young nomad glimpsed this amethyst and kunzite jewel accented with sparkling blue diamonds above a draped face cloth. Noel's heart definitely lifted at seeing Lightning amongst the small herd of prancing horses restlessly awaiting the orders of the day; she wheeled her mount stylishly and rode off with the rest to inspect the upper pastures and check on the goat boys. Daveed had decreed her warrior skills proven after yesterday's fight and assigned her duties befitting her skills. Everyone had a place in his tribe. Noel was sent with another group to hunt for the tribe; the day passed quickly and it was dusk before he got a chance to get near the Sheik's tent hoping for a word to Lightning; it rankled that she was put out of his tent and that he'd misunderstood her rejection. He told Marika just as much while she poured him tea; she hid a smile at his earnest anxiety at being perceived as less than a protector of his small household as she pointed him through a tent flap. Encouraged, he stepped through and was assaulted by the sight of Lightning in a djellaba so sheer it took his breath away. Marika was as gently ruthless as her husband in the art of war and knew the implication of wearing a garment clearly meant to arouse a man's interest would make the young lover think he'd already lost to his host, without it truly being so; they had planned only a little ruse to get Noel to admit to his girl he had feelings for her. Every woman needed to hear it out loud.

Traditionally, a formal declaration would be made, the more clever men expressing age old passion in the stanzas of poetry or in a story told to the object of his adoration, usually with the rest of tent within earshot of the tent flap; sighs and giggles behind the flap were a sure indication it was a hit. However, Noel had not come prepared with that speech; he came to humble himself. The charmingly erotic gift wrap adorning Lightning's curves was simple silk gauze, but had been sewn with thousands of minute glass beads that sparkled like dewdrops against the dull shimmer of cocoon silk; the beads clustered cleverly in dense pattern work to highlight, yet hide the more intimate parts of a woman's anatomy. All thought of measured conversation went out of his head for a few moments and his mouth ran away with all tact by breathing: "Blessed be Etro! That took some sand to put on!"

She looked over at him and raised a palm to forehead, then arched a brow: "Do I look that funny, Kreiss?"

He regained his wit and silkily replied: "Does the mirror of my eyes lie to you?"

The impudently admiring gaze was familiar, but also somehow…warmer…tender. She started to blush and turned her head, now at a loss for words herself.

"Why are you here?" She managed, suddenly aware of his scent, spicy myrrh resin underlaid with the indefinable something wild that intoxicated her.

"Knowing that the shelter of my tent over your head was denied you pains me; had I been less trusting you would have been not only with a roof to keep out the frost and winds, but the shelter of my arms and my sword. I came to be punished, and now I am."

He stepped closer, his body heat radiating through the sheer gauze, close enough to touch, but not touching. She felt the warm breath on her neck, her ear; it was heaven to feel him close; the next words were sweet as honey, yet sweet as venom to hear whispered. "The Sheik is the luckiest of men, and tonight I would die to be in his place. I yield. I will no longer pursue you. He is the better man." He almost choked on the last words, wanting to scream out he was her man and his shoulders slumped as he put his hands on his hips, because he could not even touch what was now obviously Sheik Daveed's newest harem concubine.

Lightning slowly turned and looked at him; she wanted to tell him how foolishly, adorably, wrong he was. She just wanted to hear him say it out loud just once. Just one word in particular. That was all it would take for her to run into his arms and never look back. One word.

The silence grew thick between them as he looked his last on her, intending to just turn, walk out and keep walking until he walked through enough of eternity to erode the memory of how he lost a jewel of a woman or just gain the courage to slit his own throat. Lightning, now anxious, brushed a wayward strand of hair from her face and almost gave in to say it herself, but something in him changed; Noel's face subtly arranged itself into something far more interested than defeat; his breath deepened and he was aware of his pulse, the veins and arteries slowly singing with life as his gaze zeroed in on one thing: her right hand.

He looked up again through his lashes to see if he was mistaken, but no – he was not. His defeated stance straightened back into a proud man's, & Lightning was stunned by the momentary soulful expression in his eyes, shining with unshed tears. He knew.

His mood mercurially changed again and he caught her gaze with a faintly wicked flirt of ultramarine blue, not dissimilar to a certain man-whore's at a garrison to the west, but far sexier, as it was unplanned and unsophisticated.

It was now Lightning's turn to be sucker-punched in this battle of love, as he decided to remark the moment of knowing he was in her heart by quoting the only love-poetry he knew, his father's:

_Is there anything sweeter than this hour?_

_I have seen rain on the desert, thorns melting in a deluge of sweetest water_

_I cut myself to water every fragile bloom, but my veins are yielding sand_

_My one, my sister, my soul without peer,_ _I have seen all impossible things come true._

_Come to me, beloved, come to my tent without fear; my thirsting heart is yours to command_

_I listen for your footfall soft as a raindrop, for I love thee and I wait, still bleeding sand_

Lightning never thought she'd ever be swayed by love poetry, much less from a stoic little scorpion like Noel, but she was now a quivering young woman inside ashis father's tender words engraved in his memory fed her like the sweetest taste of honey. He had softly, stealthily, moved around her while echoing his father's words to his mother, now seeing his earliest memory of love brought to life before him in the shape of a rose haired goddess trembling, eyes downcast one moment then flying up to gaze hungrily at his face, mouth breathlessly parted at the words dropping from heaven into the well of the soul. He never heard the coos and sighs of happiness from the seven women huddled behind the tent flaps, but such is happiness.

Both went to bed untasted, untouched and hugging themselves in delight, one at the sight of a symbol that proudly proclaimed consent, the other recalling the words that also proudly proclaimed love. Marika teasingly repeated Noel's love poetry to Daveed, and together they planned to ensure the spark set fire instead of sizzling out into ash on the sand. With the cunning of the experienced, they threw them together all day with the guard, then had them pulled apart in the afternoon.

Marika had a delightful time before dinner, polishing the gleaming beauty of Lightning while telling her the story of how she captured her Daveed; upon which a pink haired warrior turned to her stunned, and said: "You mean a woman can claim a man? Oh Holy Etro! Noel said…! Oh my Etro!" She began to laugh, almost hysterically as Marika paused in fussing over her headwrap, now handsomely adorned with one of Marika's necklaces wrapped around the brocade and left swinging below her cat's chin; the iridium was elaborately cut into hundreds of tiny links and dangling teardrops illuminating her face with scintillas of light; Marika had chosen well; the clasp sparkled with an enormous amethyst , which dangled above her forehead and contrasted well against the aqua eyes; Marika had teasingly added kohl around her lashes, which gave her a mysterious air when glimpsed under the djellaba hood; it was a delightful affair altogether in Marika's eyes, to see the warrior subtly enhanced to the form of a woman.

As Marika finished her tweaking of the ensemble, Lightning got the rest of her words out in between the hiccups and gasps, which suddenly put the whole damn problem they'd been having in perspective. When Marika realized exactly what Lightning was gasping and choking about, she also burst into merry peals of laughter, then sent for Daveed and he laughed also, then sat down and told Lightning the current custom: Men were just as highly sought after as women in this time; all she had to do was issue the challenge in public to him, have a chain to wrap & tie off and it MUST be tied off to claim him. When the challenge was issued, a family member or a go-between could offer rebuttal, upon which the challenger should point out the faults of the object of her affection to the go-between until they yielded. The words used to end the challenge were: "I claim the right to tame him/her to my hand."

"Go to him. Just go to him. Now, before the fire burns down. Go with God, daughter! I hope he gives you a good fight!" The Sheik placed the coiled chain in her hands and gently pushed her to his serving woman, Rhea.

"Wear it around your neck, with the clasp in front, so you do not lose it in the challenge, or if it slips from your pin while getting it out of a pocket! " the veiled woman walking with her whispered; another softly called: "Do not kick the door down! He's curious as a cat, make him open the door himself, then pounce!" …"Beware of his right eyebrow, it twitches before he kicks, Rosetta!"… "the left hand is slower than the right in an upstroke, so tire the left first!"

The word got out quickly that Lightning was going to challenge Noel and the swelling interest had the women now excited; they sidled up to whisper a word of advice on the upcoming fight, one slipping her a small blade in her boot, another reminding her the veil can be an effective garrote as well as a smokescreen; ancient and young, they all had something from experience to contribute.

She finally stood before Noel sitting by the fire, attended by a woman who was engaged with serving him tea. Of course, she hid her grin of delight in her veil from Noel and issued the prideful refusal to give up her place and task, pointing out the obvious attributes of her lord as custom dictates in the challenge & binding ritual. Delighted, the growing crowd squawked and trilled at the lively exchange as Lightning firmly rebutted them with his faults, chiefly noting the density of his head, likening it to a certain rock, then told her to step aside, she had claim and spoke the formal challenge to Noel.

Wickedly, charmingly, she sweetly chimed at her handsome unbelieving scorpion squirming and fidgeting, as his ears were burned with: "Ohhh, thou art a grain of sand in my eye, Noel Kreiss! I claim the right of challenge, to tame you my hand! Fight me and win, go free; but lose and thou art mine for all time! "

He stood shocked for a moment, now realizing he was trapped; the crowd now laughed knowingly and called various compliments about his male beauty as he slowly, painfully blushed. The soft coral suited him and brought to mind the first flush of excitement of extreme desire. He never looked more handsome in the dusk; his eyes stood out in his face like sparkling sapphires of ultramarine fire set off by the thick ruff of sooty lashes, the glossy chestnut brown hair gilded by the firelight; the same firelight illuminated a honed body of a swordsman; a strong chest and sinewed arms softened with a veil of deep gilt skin, and the earrings sparkled in the dusk of his hair, as did the ancient necklace he wore.

He belatedly realized he had no idea the ritual went both ways, and that said rituals must have been corrupted through time; by the time he was born, women were few and far in between, so the ritual was male oriented. He was beginning to feel some of Lightning's panic at the fight and he nearly shook with excitement and fear that she would take him down in front of everyone and make a eunuch out of him somehow. He also remembered the painful wraps and ties of his tribe; he had no idea how his mother had borne it, and now wondered if Lightning was jealous enough to geld him thus. He disagreed violently to it, and when faced with the thought of being tied off where the slightest wrong move brought searing pain, he immediately rose to her challenge.

It was a righteous scuffle, and both were at it with no holds barred; the men began to chant and women trilled as drinks were quaffed and bets laid with avid interest at this pairing; Noel had a nasty left jab and his longer reach, when paired with the power of his wide shoulders made Lightning dance away more than once; but it was a simple trick that brought him down: She laughingly taunted him, hands outspread; he threw his knife which she ducked, but pretended it had grazed her and she was hurt. At that she simply dropped her shoulders and acted as if she were ready to give up; he pressed his advantage and ran in to drop her, but she simply stepped aside at the last moment possible, left him run by, then calmly grabbed the neck of his shirt. He went down flat on his back, the breath knocked out of him from the force of the sudden stop; she dropped a knee on his chest and another on his left arm and jerked the right hand up ; she savagely bit his mound of venus on his hand to hold it still, a familiar memory that he growled over then yelped at. He prayed he could break free before she got his pants below his knees.

Lightning twisted the arm into a pin, leveraging her body weight to hold it still; she whipped the chain maille around one handed; it caught and wrapped around his forefinger, then simply ran in a simple twist to his wrist where it was crossed around and around until a glittering cuff had been formed. Using her teeth again she tied off the crisscrossed chain into a glittering bracelet , similar to the one he'd worn ever since his first kill, but simpler, almost elegant. And there, it was done. She climbed off him and sat back on her heels, winded before standing; the tribe cheered and pushed her to him for the traditional kiss, which promised to be a very good one, after all what was a binding without a proper show of resistance at first?

Noel was a mess of confused feelings; he loved her, yes! But this? It was total humiliation in his time, and wondered how he could bear it being beaten by a woman and now bound to her. He mentally cursed himself softly, wondering if he should just give up and be a wanderer for the rest of his eternity. He began to understand Caius' state of mind very clearly now. At least the wrapped chain wasn't a killer to wear. He'd been expecting something as humiliatingly painful as the scorpion's sting as she had compared him to earlier. It actually looked…manly…kind of…well, sexy.

Then he saw the faces around him, not hard, harsh, or enjoying his shame, but kind, smiling, hands patting him, men praising his fight, the beauty of the woman who claimed him, calling out blessings for love, children, wealth, all, all a daze of loving kindness meant to bolster his heart until it overflowed; and overflow it did at last. It hit him full force that she had thrown aside her fear, her customs, and was letting him know she desired him with an equal fervor! He had reached her; the walls she had built around herself so carefully were gone, and there she stood, eagerly, impatiently waiting for him. He was going to be with her no matter what. Did it really matter who did the binding? She was his just as much as he was hers. And how he was going to enjoy it.

Lightning and he were pushed together and there was no hesitation in his mind when she raised her mouth to his; he was all eagerness now, and fell against her, returning her kiss with an unabashed desire growing into a hot sirocco that lit his face, his body now fitting against her, pushing into the lush curves to feel every inch of her, knotting fists in her hair to keep her close and he continued to taste her far past what he originally intended; when he finally opened his eyes, hers were also looking at him in the same intent yet dazed manner; slowly they broke apart and allowed the tribe to push them on a shared mount, as tradition also dictated and set it off at a gallop into the cool night air to take their first ride as partners.

They fell back to their fire, poured tea and relaxed again to gossip and compare notes about the event, fueled by the ever present dates and figs until they lazily drifted to bed. They didn't expect the couple to return that night, or for at least a few days, judging by the blazing passion exhibited by the pair. 500 years is a long time to find a partner, who knows? It might take a decade or two for the passion to be satisfied. "Just leave the welcome lamp burning by the east tent awning, children!" bawled Sheik Daveed Ibn Ibrahim as he caught his first wife's eyes and smiled at her, blushing in memory at his own binding.

**Post Script**

Sometime after everyone had gone to bed, a muffled cry occurred in a tent as two bodies rolled over in a soft bedroll, a female form now on top; a startled "Etro! – you mean we can…?!"

"Yup" was all that was heard, as a hand hastily stifled a man's yelp of absolute delight.

 


End file.
